


The Never Home Girl

by thecirclesquare



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-16 13:49:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 110,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11830026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecirclesquare/pseuds/thecirclesquare
Summary: Cophine AU - 1939 France, leading up to, and through WWII. A young Delphine lives with her family in the quiet village of Rosheim, France. But one day (and one night) she meets a stranger, a mysterious American woman, that will change the course of her life in ways that she still cannot yet imagine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Over the past year I've completely rewritten this story, so much so, that the one I intend to publish is significantly different from this fanfic version. Therefore, I've decided there is no harm in reposting it here for the fandom to enjoy. #farewellorphanblack

August 1939

It was a lovely day that day; lovely but hot. The sky was bright blue, and the sun was strong on my shoulders. I hurried down a narrow dirt road, clutching my school books to my chest, sweat gathering in the crooks of my elbows. I hurried past countless rows of grapevines, past old farm houses, and even older fences.

I passed a field of sunflowers, and I barely noticed them at all. I barely noticed their rich, full blossoms, or their towering height, or their subtle scent. I barely noticed how clear the air was; so clear that if you had the wherewithal to look for it, you could make out any ridge of the Vosges Mountains in the distance.

I did not notice the mountains, nor did I notice the grapevines or the sunflowers. I didn't notice any of it, though I admit that it was a lovely country scene. To me it was just that; country. That afternoon, I had the city on my mind; and one city in particular, Strasbourg.

I had made a promise to my brother, Laurent, the night before; me sitting at my desk, him sitting on the edge of the bed behind me, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Bonsoir, Delphine," he had said.

"What do you want?" I had said, leaning over my books.

"The pleasure of your company, of course," he said.

"Company to where?" I said, smiling to myself because I already knew the answer.

"To a certain gentleman's club in Strasbourg, tomorrow evening," he said.

"Go by yourself," I said.

"Oh, come on," he said. "It's more fun when you come along."

"Why?" I said. "Every time I go with you to one of those places, you abandon me for some handsome guy, and I'm left alone at the table, sipping a glass of wine and wishing I was right here, at my desk, with a good book."

"But I need you," he said.

"Why?" I said.

"Because you're the prettiest girl in all of Alsace, and the smartest, too," he said. "All the boys love you."

"Oh, shut up," I said. "The boys you want aren't interested in me... you just need me to translate for your border-jumping Germans."

"So, you'll do it?" he said.

I turned around in my chair and looked into his blue eyes. They were sparkling; radiating a seductive mixture of mischief, curiosity and confidence. It was never easy for me to say no to him, not completely.

"Fine," I said. "But I'm sick of wine. I want a proper cocktail, like a proper lady."

"No problem," he said.

"A martini," I said.

"Sure" he said.

"One of those fancy ones," I said, "with the little cherry at the bottom."

"No sweat!" he said. "I always take care of you, don't I?"

"Fine," I said, and we agreed over a handshake to leave the house the next night at six o'clock on the dot.

 _On the dot,_ I thought as I hurried up the dirt road. _On the dot! It's already four!_

Yes, I had the city on my mind as I hurried up the road; a road that wound through the vineyards, past the field of sunflowers and up to my family's old house; a house so old that the entire west side was crumbling from water damage.

 _I hope Laurent has a good cover story,_ I thought.

I hadn't had time to think of one, but he was usually reliable about that sort of thing, so I put it out of my mind. Mostly, I wondered what I should wear. Those boys at the bars he went to were always so dandy, I always felt underdressed.

 _I'll have to wear my Sunday dress,_ I thought.

But then I second guessed myself, _A church dress? Really?_

But just as the sweat dripped from my temple and into the corner of my eye, I heard a loud bang from overhead. I flinched and looked up.

"What in the world?" I muttered to myself, standing motionless with my hand over my eyes.

It was a plane.

It passed right overhead, the cheerful hum of its propellor interrupted every few seconds by a great sputtering of gray smoke.

"You don't see that everyday," I said to myself.

The plane moved several hundred meters off, then banked to the right, its wings tipping at a severe angle and the whole vehicle shaking violently as it pulled around. It straightened out and I realized then, it was headed straight for the sunflower field, straight for me, and it was approaching fast.

I stumbled backwards, trying to get out of the plane's path, but my feet got caught up and I fell, dropping my books in the dirt, then landing hard on my tailbone. I cried out just as the wheels touched down.

I watched, in horror, as the plane landed roughly in the field, carving out great tracks among the sunflowers, dragging hundreds of them along in its landing gear and propellor as it went, and I was sure, this was the end of my short life. Then it came to a complete stop, only a few meters from where I lay, and after one final bang-bang-crack, the propellor died down.

I took a deep breath.

 _Oh, thank god,_ I thought. _I'm too young to die._

The pilot jumped up then, waving his hands over his head and shouting something that I couldn't quite understand. He wore a leather cap and enormous goggles that seemed to swallow his face, save for a tiny nose and petite mouth. In fact, as he scurried out of the cabin, stepping one foot on the wing, then leaping down to the ground, I realized that almost everything about him was petite; his chest barely rising higher than the bottom wing.

"I'm so sorry!" he said, running toward me with his gloved hands outstretched. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!"

I sat on my butt in the middle of the road, leaning back on my hands, and staring up at this bizarre stranger, with his bizarre cap and goggles. I watched as he stumbled through the sunflowers toward me, nearly falling flat on his face. I watched, but I said nothing. There was nothing I could say.

"I'm sorry," he said again, fidgeting with the clasp of his helmet.

"It's okay," I said. "I'm fine, really."

"Are you… eh… are you hurt?" he said, giving up on the helmet and reaching a hand toward me instead.

"Yes," I said, "I mean, no. I'm mean, I'm fine. I'm fine."

He pulled me up, and for one long moment, we were standing face to face. Then he began patting at my dress - at my legs and arms - dusting my clothes off in a series of quick, too-familiar gestures. I pushed his hands away.

"Please, stop," I said. "I'm fine."

Then he pulled his hands away abruptly, his back straight like a soldier's, and if it weren't for the ridiculous goggles hiding half his face, I could have sworn he was blushing.

"I have to go," I said, gathering up my books as quickly as possible.

"Wait!" he said, leaning down to help me. "Wait! Where am I? Where is this? Do you speak English?"

The last question caught my attention, and I looked up.

"Yes," I said, unsure why I hadn't just lied and moved on.

We both stood up.

And then the strangest thing happened.

He reached up with both hands, struggling with clasp at his chin, a frustrated smile on his mouth, and then he pulled the helmet off.

I gasped.

A puff of brown curls bounced out into the sunlight, first springing up and then settling around the pilot's face; around _her_ face, I should say, because _she_ was not a _he_ at all.

She pulled the goggles off and smiled. There were two red rings around her eyes where the goggles had been. She squinted at me.

"Wait!" she said, speaking English with an unmistakable American accent. "Can you tell me what village that is over there?"

She turned and pointed down the hill.

"It's called Rosheim," I said.

"Rosheim?" she said. She reached into the front pocket of her dusty leather jacket. "Not Colmar?"

"No," I said. "Colmar is south of here."

"How far south?" she said, pulling a flimsy, well-used map out of her pocket.

"Very south," I said.

She unfolded the map and stared at it, holding it real close to her face and squinting. She bit at her lip in concentration.

"Dang it!" she said, finally. "I must have flown right over it! It's so easy to get lost with all these vineyards."

She turned around a few times, looking first up the road, and then down the road.

"Everything here looks exactly the same!" she said.

"Yes, I suppose so," I said, looking around, as if I, too, were a stranger in my own home town.

When I turned back, she was looking right at me, her hair a tangled mess, and her eyes catching the afternoon sunlight and throwing it back at me; a lovely hazel-brown that matched the sunflowers behind her.

A red handkerchief was tied around her neck. She pulled at it nervously.

"Well," she said as the handkerchief came loose in her hand. "Is there a post office somewhere in that village? A place I can send a telegram, or make a phone call?"

"Uh," I stuttered, distracted by the way she wiped her face, starting at her temple and then sweeping the red cloth down to her ears and behind her neck.

 _Did she really just land a plane in Monsieur Lumiere's sunflowers?_ I thought, glancing at the plane. _Did that really just happen?_

"Uh," I stammered again.

She must have misunderstood, or rather, she thought that I had misunderstood, because she began stammering herself, trying to think of a word.

"Ehm...poste?" she said. "Où est... le bureau... de poste?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "Yes, there is a post office."

"Great!" she said, tucking the red scarf into her breast pocket, leaving only the corner tip hanging out; a dot of red against the brown leather.

"But wait," I said. "It's already past four. The post office will be closed, I think."

"Hmm," she said, looking around again, one hand holding the map, and one hand on her hip.

"You could try the Inn," I said. "They might have a telegraph or phone."

"Yeah," she said, biting at her lip. "Yeah, I could try that."

I glanced again at the bit of handkerchief, its red color catching my eye, and at the same moment a welcome breeze kicked up, jostling her wild curls about her face. My eyes trailed over her dirty cheeks, over her jacket, and then, quite naturally, down her entire person. Her trousers were most likely hand tailored. I say so because they were cut in the men's style, but they were cut to fit her petite frame. And her boots looked brand new, the leather glistening in the sun. Her leather helmet and her goggles dangled from her elbow as she regarded the map one more time.

She brushed her hair aside and turned back to me.

"How far is Strasbourg?" she asked.

"Strasbourg?" I said. "Why Strasbourg?"

"Why not?" she said. "It's closer than Colmar, isn't it?"

 _She can't go to Strasbourg,_ I thought, _because I'm going to Strasbourg._

"Yes," I said.

"And it probably has a few decent hotels?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm sure it does, but the Inn in town is very nice, as well."

"I'm sure it is," she said. "But I need to get to a place where I can be easily reached, if you know what I mean."

"Right, of course," I said, but actually, I didn't really know what she meant at all.

"Well," I said, somehow reluctant to point her in the direction of the city, "there is a bus that comes by, usually on the hour."

 _Just don't get on the six o'clock one,_ I thought.

"On the hour?" she said.

"Yes, if you go into town and wait in front of the bakery."

She bit her lip.

"Yes," she said, "maybe I'll do that, then."

"What about the plane?" I asked.

She turned to look at the plane, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"Well," she said. "I guess I'll have to leave a note."

"A note?" I said.

"Yes," she said. "To whoever's field this is... Wait... Is this your field?"

"Oh, no," I said. "This is Monsieur Lumiere's field. Thank god it's just the sunflowers and not one of the vineyards."

"Yes," she said. "I guess we should be thankful for that, otherwise, I might not have had such a smooth landing."

 _You call that a smooth landing?_ I thought.

"But I mean, what's wrong with it?" I said.

"The plane?" she said. "What's wrong with it?"

"Oui," I said.

"Well," she said, turning away from me and pushing her hair behind her ear. "Well, eh, I'm not exactly sure."

"It seems like a mechanical problem," I said.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, it would seem that way. But it's not my plane, you see."

"Then whose is it?" I said.

"It's my cousin's," she said.

"Your cousin?" I said.

"Yep," she said, staring out at the plane.

I didn't know what else to say, and she seemed to be thinking so hard about her predicament, that I decided it was best to leave her to it.

"Well, if I were you," I said. "I'd write your note quickly and leave, before Mr. Lumiere comes by."

She looked at me with her head tilted to the side.

"You think he'll be upset?" she said.

"He's not exactly a...welcome wagon," I said, proud of myself for remembering the phrase.

"Right," she said, folding up the map and taking a step away from me. "I'd better get to it, then."

"Yes," I said. "I'd better go, too."

"Oh, by the way," she said. "I'm Cosima."

She reached out her gloved hand, and somehow that made me laugh. Somehow the random nature of the entire scene came crashing down on me at once. I laughed hard, from my belly, and instead of taking her hand, I brought both of my hands to my mouth, embarrassed at my sudden outburst.

She laughed because I laughed.

"I know, I know," she said. "This probably isn't what you expected to see on your walk home today."

"Non," I said. "Non, not at all."

We were both laughing then, until we heard a man shouting just down the road. I took Cosima's hand. I pulled her toward the plane.

"It's Mr. Lumiere!" I said. "You'd better go!"

She laughed even more.

"It's fine," she said. "I've got to face the music eventually, right?"

"Are you sure?" I said, watching Mr. Lumiere approach, a straw hat on his head. His face was red with heat or, more likely, anger. He waved his hands in the air and cursed loudly.

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure. Shouting men don't scare me. Neither do men in hats."

"Alright," I said. "But if you don't mind, I really have to go."

"By all means," she said.

And I was already sidestepping up the road.

"Good luck!" I said as I hurried away.

"Thanks!" she called after me. "Merci beaucoup!"

I walked quickly up the hill, keeping my head down and my face forward. But I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

 _Men in hats?_ I thought. _Her cousin's plane? She needs to be easily reachable?_

None of it made sense; all of it was confounding, so confounding, in fact, that I had completely forgotten about Strasbourg and Laurent and my Sunday dress. That is, until I opened the front door of my house. My mother and Laurent were in the middle of a conversation.

"I don't know why you can't go to a closer theatre," my mother said.

"Oh, mother," Laurent said. "It's the biggest film of the year, maybe of the decade. We can't wait two weeks for it to come to town. We have to see it in the city! It's more epic this way, don't you see?"

"Epic?" my mother muttered. "Why do you need epic? Quiet is better - quiet and cheap. Why do you have to pay for the bus, two ways? And then pay a higher ticket price for the same film? Why can't you be patient? Two weeks is nothing in a lifetime."

"It's alright, mother," I said, stepping into the kitchen. "It was my idea. I've read so much about this new film, it's supposed to be Renoir's masterpiece. You know how I love Renoir films."

"Masterpiece, huh?" she said, looking at me sideways. "What's it called?"

" _The Rules of the Game_ ," I said. "Doesn't that sound intriguing?"

"I suppose so," she said, her face relaxing.

"And don't worry about money," I said. "I've got some extra saved up from the bakery. I knew you wouldn't let me go alone, so I asked Laurent to escort me into the city."

My mother sighed.

"Alright, alright," she said. "But I don't want my children out at all hours of the night. Make sure he is on that bus home tonight."

"I will," I said, kissing my mother's cheek. "You can trust me."

"I can't believe this," Laurent said, feigning indignance. "You two act like I'm some sort of delinquent. You do remember who is the eldest here, right?"

But when my mother's back was turned he shot me a quick wink.

"You may not be a delinquent," I said, heading for the stairs, "but you're not far from it."

"Just remember!" he shouted after me. "I'm doing you a favor! I might have better things to do than escort you to Strasbourg!"

"Like what?" I shouted back.

"Like...other things!" he shouted, really exaggerating his snotty attitude. "You owe me!"

But when I got upstairs, I closed my bedroom door without answering him. I walked to the window and looked out over the vineyards to Mr. Lumiere's field. There was the plane, almost golden in the afternoon sun, and there was the long trail of demolished sunflowers behind it. But Mr. Lumiere was no where to be seen. And more importantly, neither was that mysterious pilot.

"Cosima," I whispered.

 _What kind of name is that?_ I wondered.

I walked to my wardrobe, pulled open the doors, and flipped through my very small selection of dresses. I pulled out my Sunday dress. I held it up to my chest and walked to the mirror.

I sighed, and even though I was looking at my own reflection, I kept seeing that strange woman in my mind's eye, with her men's trousers, her leather jacket, her shiny black boots, and that little red handkerchief. I kept seeing her smile, and I could not shake the moment from my mind; the moment when she pulled that dusty leather helmet from her head and her curls bounced about her small face; the moment when she squinted at me, red raccoon rings around her eyes.

 _Cosima,_ I thought. _That's_ _the kind of name I won't easily forget._


	2. Chapter 2

As we approached the bar, which was a rustic cottage nestled in the corner of a dead-end lane, I fiddled with the front of my dress, which often got caught up between my sweaty knees.

We climbed the steps to the unmarked front door, but I knew the name of the place, everyone did; Le Petit Chiot, or Le Chiot, for short.

"After you, Mademoiselle," Laurent said.

He pulled open the door in a grand gesture, and as it swung open, a cloud of gray smoke and a wall of sound billowed out - the murmurs, the laughs, the joyful utterances of men; the happy, delicate tapping of piano keys - they billowed out into the otherwise quiet street.

I smiled.

"Thank you," I said with a little curtsy of my own.

Once inside, we made our way through the dense crowd. There were some women but it was mostly men; some dressed in suits, others in casual linen shirts, and still others in full drag with tall wigs on their heads, tall heels on their feet and eyeshadow that reached higher than their eyebrows.

Yes, even in my best dress, I felt underdressed.

Luckily, not many of them paid much attention to me.

"Jolie fille!" they would shout as I passed, but then they would turn back to the one they were with, all flirtatious smiles and sidewards glances.

We made our way to the back of the bar, to our usual table, which was being held by one of Laurent's friends, a Strasbourg native named Jean.

Jean was a short guy, almost a head shorter than me, with dark skin and even darker eyes. He was always well-dressed, usually in a colorful bowtie and suspenders, and he had such a pretty face, he never wanted for attention.

"Hey, you two!" he shouted. "What took you so long? I've been fighting off the fairies all night, trying to save these seats - not to mention Bijou, over here."

He pointed to an old woman, dressed in a red sequined gown, her hair frizzed out about her face like a lion's mane. She was a regular at Le Chiot, and she always sat in the same spot, sipping an oversized glass of cognac, offering advice or making jokes to whoever happened to be in earshot. Usually, that person was me.

"Bonsoir, Madame Bijou," I said with a nod of my head.

She nodded her head in response and sipped at her cognac.

"Alright!" Laurent said. "Drinks? I'm buying!"

I slipped into the bench between the wall and the table.

"You know what I want," I said, leaning my elbows onto the sticky table.

"Right!" Laurent said. "A martini! With a cherry at the bottom!"

And he was off, already pushing through the crowd to get to the bar which was made of dark wood, and ornamented with leather panels and a brass foot rest. I couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. He always did remind me of a kid in a candy store whenever we came to Le Chiot, eager to spend his birthday money on his favorite treats.

I was less enthusiastic about the place sometimes; it could be downright dreary on some nights, or too lewd on others, depending on the crowd. But the bad nights were the nights when Laurent could not find a suitable object of affection, and the very worst nights were when he was rejected outright. Then he'd join me at the table and sink into a terrible melancholy, refusing to go home, his eyes on the door, still holding out for the perfect stranger to walk in and sweep him off his feet.

But for some reason, I knew this night was not going to be like that. Something was different. I could feel it already. Maybe he'd finally have a bit of luck.

I leaned back and looked around the room.

The pianist, with his long arms and long fingers, had just finished up a cheerful waltz. He turned around at the waist and called to one of his friends, a moustached man in a white shirt, unbuttoned at the front and revealing a mess of chest hair which he was obviously quite proud of. The moustached man set his glass of wine down and leaned, whispering into the ear of a nearby fairy-boy, and in her blond wig and black-feathered hat, she looked more glamorous than I could ever hope to be.

Together they moved toward the piano, the moustached man picking up an accordion and the fairy-boy standing with her hands neatly placed on the top of the upright. The pianist counted off a one-two-three and then they all launched into another song.

It must have been a crowd favorite, because soon the entire room was filled with happy drunk bellowing. Couples paired off and began dancing in the center of the room, standing very close to each other, because space was limited.

And what a sight the couples were! Men danced together, and women, too. Men in women's clothes danced with women in men's clothes. Short and tall, thick and thin, old and young; it was a wonderful potpourri of patrons that night, all of them rosy-cheeked, hot and happy.

 _Yes,_ I thought as I tapped my finger on my sweaty knee.

_Tonight is going to be a good night._

Laurent returned with my drink, but he didn't linger at the table long. Soon, he and Jean were circulating through the crowd, greeting old acquaintances, or making new ones. As for me, I was content to stay at the table alone, as long as it meant I could sit down. Trying to stand among so many tall, high-heeled dancers was a risky business, unless you were wearing the sturdiest of protective footwear. In my worn out leather sandals, I was much safer on the sidelines.

"Is he your beau?" Madame Bijou said, lighting a cigarette next to me.

"Who?" I said. "Laurent?"

"Either of them," she grunted, her voice raspy.

"Oh, God, no!" I said, somehow embarrassed by the question. "That's my brother!"

"Both of them?" she asked.

"Well, no," I said, "that one's just a friend."

I pointed and she nodded and her sequins sparkled in the smoky light.

"Not your boyfriends?" she said, "but you're here almost every week?"

"Yes," I said, sipping at my martini. "It seems that way."

"You're here for the girls, then?" she said.

She exhaled and looked down, tapping the butt of her cigarette on the edge of an ashtray that sat on her knee.

I was glad she looked away, because I was blushing.

"No," I said, taking another drink.

"Then why do you come?" she asked, looking me in the eyes.

I shrugged my shoulders, smiled awkwardly and took another drink.

She looked away then, exhaling a puff of gray smoke that rose up and out, mixing in with the smoggy cloud gathered at the ceiling. I looked down.

 _Why do I come here every week?_ I thought. _I come because Laurent asks me to._

"I come for the atmosphere," she said after a long silence.

"Oui," I said. "Me, too."

But her words echoed in my mind... _You're here for the girls, then?_

"No," I repeated under my breath.

I glanced around the room, taking stock of the few female patrons; some in dresses, others in suits. They were usually paired off; they usually came to Le Chiot in couples, or if they came alone, they paired off quickly, almost without thinking, as if it were the natural thing to do. They were not like the men, who seemed to roam about, always on the prowl for something new and exciting.

Only once, was I offered a drink, which was followed by an invitation to dance.

I remembered the woman very well. I remembered her tweed suit and her slicked back hair. I remembered she was much older than me, crow's feet forming in the corners of her eyes. But she looked kind and gentle, and when I waved my hand, saying that I didn't dance, she smiled politely and returned to the bar.

I remembered feeling especially hot for the rest of that night, my legs sticking to the leather booth beneath me. I remembered avoiding any other unsolicited glances, staring instead at the Cubist paintings that covered the walls. I remembered the butterflies in my stomach, and the way my hands shook for several minutes after she had walked away, and the little twinge of jealousy when I saw her dancing with another, a girl with red hair and skinny legs. I remembered her hands on the girl's back.

I remembered the butterflies.

 _For the girls?_ I thought. _No, definitely not._

"Actually," Madame Bijou said, "that's a lie."

"What?" I said, shocked at her forwardness.

 _How did she know?_ I thought. _Am I blushing? Did she see me blush?_

I touched my own face. It was hot.

"I don't come here for the atmosphere alone," she said.

I exhaled in relief.

"I come for the cognac," she said. "I don't know what it is, but it just doesn't taste the same anywhere else."

"Oh," I said, smiling into my glass.

"You should try it," she said. "Once you do, you won't go back."

"Maybe one day," I said.

"One day?" she said. "Darling, life is too short for one day."

"Merci," I said, "but I have my martini."

"Do you know who introduced me to cognac?" she asked.

"Who?" I said.

"My husband," she said.

"Your husband?" I said, surprised.

"Yes," she said. "My first husband."

"Your first one?"

"Yes," she said, "He was an ugly bastard, but he was such a smooth talker."

I laughed.

"He could talk the stripes off a zebra," she said.

"Oh, really?" I said, her description reminded me of Laurent, though Laurent was far from ugly.

I looked up, spotting him by the bar, his arm around Jean's shoulders, a wine glass his hand and a charming smile on his face.

 _I know about smooth talkers,_ I thought.

"Yes," she said. "And even though he had no family and no money, he talked my father into marriage."

"Wow," I said.

"And, we used to come here together, a long, long time ago," she continued.

I kept my eyes on Laurent, trying to imagine the day that he might get married, the day he might leave, and without him, the day I'd have no reason to come to Le Chiot.

 _Will he ever marry a girl?_ I wondered. _Start a family?_

The thought made me laugh, because at the moment he was whispering into the ear of red-haired admirer.

 _Not in a million years!_ I thought. _So it will be up to me then? To carry on the Cormier legacy?_

"We used to come here almost every night," Madame Bijou continued, "and he'd say, 'Bartender, we've just been married! Please give my little Bijou a glass of your best cognac to celebrate!'"

"Every night?" I said.

"Yes," she said. "Almost every night, and he always talked himself out of the tab."

"That's remarkable," I said.

"Oui," Madame Bijou. "But there was one thing...one thing that he couldn't talk himself out of."

"And what was that?" I said.

"The trenches," she said, taking a long drink of her cognac.

When she lowered her glass, she dabbed at her wrinkled lips with a red handkerchief.

"The Great War?" I said.

She nodded her head.

There was a moment of silence while I did the math in my head.

"Anyway," she said. "I've been coming here ever since, to celebrate our short happiness."

"And your next husband?" I said.

"My next husband?"

"Yes," I said. "What happened to him?"

"I made him drink with me," she said, smiling. "He was duller than dishwater, but nice to look at. The cognac made everything he said seem more interesting, if you know what I mean."

I laughed.

"I think so," I said.

I looked down and realized that my glass was empty. I gasped.

Madame Bijou also noticed. She smiled a wrinkled smile that seemed to have endless layers of happiness, sadness and wisdom all at once.

"Life is short," she said. "Drink cognac."

"But I've nothing to celebrate," I said.

"You're young!" she said. "That's enough!"

"Okay," I said. "But let me pay."

"Non, non," she said. "I'll put it on my tab."

She lifted her glass in the air and raised a shaky hand to her mouth.

"Bartender!" she shouted.

The bartender looked up immediately, eyebrows raised, ignoring the patrons in front of him.

"Two of your best cognac," she shouted, her voice cracking. "We need to celebrate!"

The drinks arrived only minutes later, and we raised our glasses.

"To young love!" Madame Bijou said.

"To young love," I said, too, but I felt a little silly, having never been in love before.

I watched her drink first. She raised the glass before her face, watching the caramel colored liquor swish about. Then she brought it to her nose, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, a slight smirk on her lips. I wondered if she was thinking of him. Then she opened her eyes and took a delicate sip.

I followed her lead, swishing the cognac about, then sniffing to get an idea of the nose. I sat up straight, then, surprised because I could have sworn I smelled...sunflowers.

"What is it?" Madame Bijou asked me.

"Nothing," I said, raising the glass to my nose one more time. "It's nothing."

I sniffed again, and this time, though not quite as strong, I was sure the aroma was there; the subtle scent of sunflowers.

 _I've never heard of such a thing,_ I thought.

But Madame Bijou was watching me in expectation, so I shook off the uncanny feeling and brought the glass to my lips. I looked up over the edge of the glass as I tilted it back, catching Laurent's eye for a moment. He winked at me, bringing a cigarette to his smiling lips.

And then, just as the brandy touched my lips, the door of Le Petite Chiot swung open, letting in a gust of fresh air and a glint of the remaining summer sunlight.

Everyone turned toward the door, including Laurent, everyone curious to see who would walk in next.

I looked, too, my mouth still on the edge of the glass, the strong flavor of brandy washing over my tongue.

And, honest to God, I couldn't tell you what that brandy tasted like. I couldn't tell you because,

there, standing just inside the front door, was the pilot from Monsieur Lumiere's field.

 _Cosima,_ I thought.

I coughed, nearly spitting out the cognac. All eyes turned toward me as I coughed several more times, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

"What's wrong?" Madame Bijou said.

"Nothing," I wheezed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Nothing."

Yes, all eyes had turned toward me, and when I looked up, she was looking right at me.

My heart pounded in my ears.

She was completely transformed, and I was completely shocked.

Her hair was pulled into a bun at the back of her neck; and her eyes were lined in thick, black eyeliner; and a pair of delicate black spectacles sat on her nose; and she was not in pilot's clothes. No, she was in a red silk dress, in the Shanghai style, the collar high around her neck, and the length reaching to mid-calf. And the most surprising thing of all, she wore not ordinary shoes or heels on her feet, but her shiny, black leather boots; an unusual combination which seemed to add to the appeal of her entire ensemble, not detract from it.

I glanced away as fast as I could, hoping she would not recognize me, but it was pointless after the scene I had made.

She looked right at me and she smiled. Then she leaned back, saying something to the man who had entered with her; a tall lanky man with equally thick eyeliner. She said something to him, and then they were both walking in my direction.

I held my glass with both hands, leaning back, pressing myself against the wall, suddenly embarrassed and suddenly drunk.

_Oh, god!_


	3. Chapter 3

_What should I say?_ I thought as she approached. _What if I can't speak? What if I just sit here like a bump on a log? Oh, god, my heart!_

But she smiled so big, and she looked so genuinely happy to see me, that it was hard to stay scared for long.

No, within a moment, I was smiling with her, leaning forward, anticipating her arrival, my mouth suddenly loaded with so many questions; questions that tasted like sunflowers and citrus. If only I could remember how to say them in English.

"A friend of yours?" Madame Bijou said, lighting up another cigarette.

"Yes," I said. "Sort of."

Laurent's eyes were also on me, his eyebrows raised in curiosity, as if to ask, 'And what do we have here?'

I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled. Even if he was close enough to hear me, what could I say?

_Oh, this is the woman that almost flattened me beneath her landing gear._

I realized then that I hadn't told Laurent, or anyone, the story of the mysterious pilot yet.

But then, she arrived, placing one hand delicately on the edge of the table, and reaching her other hand straight out to shake mine. It was an odd mixture of feminine and masculine gestures, and it made me stare.

"Hello, again!" Cosima said. "What a pleasant surprise! Do you remember me? The pilot?"

"Of course," I said, taking her hand. "How can I forget?"

"I admit that I must have made quite an impression!" she said.

The man behind her gave me a once over and a slight roll of his eyes, just like he had seen my kind before and knew all about me. I didn't really like that, but I wasn't sure what he was reacting to, because I wasn't even sure what my kind was.

"This is my friend, Felix," she said, presenting him to me with both hands.

"Enchanté," I said. "I'm Delphine."

"Enchantée," Felix said with a nod of his head.

"Delphine," Cosima repeated my name, her lips soft as she formed the words.

She was still for a moment, her head tilted to the side as she smiled at me.

I couldn't believe she was the same woman from the field. There was not a spec of dust on her face. Her skin was smooth and clear. And her hair, which had been a mess of untamed chestnuts curls, was now neatly pulled back. And her eyes, which had once held the many shades of a field of sunflowers now seemed a dark brown, perhaps darkened by the thick eyeliner, or perhaps, by the smoky light of the room.

She shook her head then as if shaking off a distant thought and then she turned to Felix, who was already glancing hungrily around the room.

"This is the girl I was telling you about from the field! Isn't that mad?! Isn't that a statistical improbability?!" Cosima said, turning toward Felix and beaming.

 _She was telling him about me?_ I thought. _And what did she say?_

"Well, you know what they say," Felix started, "it's a small fairy world."

 _Fairy?_ I thought, a little more than indignant. _Who is he calling a fairy?_

"Are you here alone?" she asked, glancing around.

"No," I said. "I'm with my brother. He's over there, with his arm around the redhead."

Felix saw him right away and smirked.

"Guess it runs in the family," he said.

I wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, either, but his smirk was more gentle this time, so I decided to let it pass.

"So," I started to say, but then, my mind blanked.

"So," Cosima said, leaning toward the table.

Felix watched Cosima with his tongue in his cheek, then he looked at me.

"How about I go get us some drinks?" he said. "Looks like it's going to take some time. Plus, I'd like to get better acquainted with the locals."

"Yeah," Cosima, leaning onto one hip and looking up at him. "Yeah, you go. I think I'm gonna stay here."

"Alright, well, what do you want, then?" Felix said.

"Um, anything, anything," Cosima said, waving a hand in the air.

Felix made a swooping turn, fixing his hair in the process, and then he set off toward the bar, a flirtatious smile already on his lips.

When Cosima turned back to me, I smiled, because actually, I didn't know what to say. She smiled, too, a giggle bubbling up in her throat.

"Um," she started to say, "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Non," I said. "Please, sit down."

Cosima sat herself in the chair on the opposite side of the table, and immediately her eyes wandered to Madame Bijou's face.

"Bonsoir," she said.

Madame Bijou nodded her head and took a sip of cognac.

"American?" she asked, and I could swear there was a little twinkle in her eye.

"Oui," Cosima said.

"Ah, wonderful!" Madame Bijou said. "I love Americans!"

Cosima looked at me and laughed.

"Merci?" she said like she was unsure if it was something to be thankful for.

"And, tell me, American, do you drink cognac?" Madame Bijou said. "We were just making a toast to young love."

Cosima looked at me with a panicked expression on her face.

I thought for a moment, then I translated as best I could.

"She wants to know if you drink cognac," I said. "We were just making a toast."

"Oh!" Cosima said, turning to look Madame Bijou in the eyes. "Yes! Oui!"

"Bartender!" Madame Bijou called out. "One more glass!"

Again, the bartender stopped everything, pouring the brandy and sending the glass to our table with a shirtless young man.

Felix watched in envy as the young man passed, though whether it was envy over the speedy service or over the shirtless man, I may never know.

"Merci!" Cosima said, taking the glass up in her small hand. "And what are we drinking to?"

"Young love!" Madame Bijou said.

"What?" Cosima said, looking to me for clarification.

"Ehm…," I stuttered, feeling shy. "She said, 'to love!' Ehm… 'to young love!'"

"Oh," Cosima said, raising her glass, her eyes locked on mine. "I can drink to that."

I looked away as I took a sip of the brandy, but I could feel her eyes on me; on my face. And when I set my glass down, I still could not meet her gaze.

I looked at Laurent, who seemed to be enjoying himself. Even from where I sat, I saw a bead of sweat drip from the hairline above his temple. His face was red, and I could tell by the almost too-happy smile on his lips that he was already feeling intoxicated.

I looked at Felix, who had finally made it to the bar. He was leaning over it elegantly and chatting with the older gentleman next to him. I watched him trace a finger along the back of the gentleman's hand.

 _Wow!_ I thought. _He's fast._

And then I looked at Madame Bijou, who was also watching the crowd, a long, thin cigarette between her fingers, the ash growing long and dropping into the ashtray on her knee. She smiled lazily, swaying back and forth to the music, even bouncing her shoulders every now and then during the percussive parts.

Then, with no one else to look at, and still unable to look at Cosima, I scanned the crowd of dancers, swaying myself to the music, as if I were enjoying it all. I had no choice but to notice the details of the dancers; their sweaty foreheads, backs and armpits. And one man in particular, a man in a purple silk shirt, was dancing so energetically that his black hair - what little he had - was completely soaked through.

 _Well, at least he's having fun,_ I thought.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cosima turn, too, to watch the dancers. I stole a glance at her then.

I glanced once, very quickly, because I thought she might turn around.

I glanced again, this time letting my eyes linger. I noticed her ear first, no ornaments or decorations on it. Then I noticed her neck, noticed the way the Shanghai collar pushed very gently into her skin. Then, just as if she had known I was watching, she reached for her collar, slipping two fingers between it and her skin, and pulling it gently away for a moment, tilting her head to the side. Then she let her hand fall back down, leaning her elbow back onto the table. That was when I noticed her arm, lean but strong. I know because I saw the muscles there flex, ever so slightly, as she tapped her finger to the beat of the song. I wished to see more of her, but my view was obstructed by the table, which cut her at the waist.

The song finished, and in that half-second before the band started up the next one, she turned around, quite unexpectedly, and our eyes met.

I had been staring, and I was sure she knew it, right away.

"This place is nice," she said. "Better than I expected."

"Yes," I said. "I come here often, I mean...we come here, my brother and I."

"I can see why," she said. "Great atmosphere. Great music. Great cognac."

She raised her glass, and when Madame Bijou saw that, she raised her glass, laughing in sudden bursts that filled the room. I could not help but raise my glass, too.

"What should we toast to?" Cosima said.

"Statistical improbabilities," I said.

"Yes, I like it," Cosima said, smiling.

But this time Madame Bijou was confused, but after I explained, she squinted her eyes and pulled her mouth into a tight-lipped smile, the way that older people do when they know something that you don't.

We all drank, and when the glasses were down, the table was quiet again.

"This is such a lovely song," Madame Bijou said. "Why don't you two dance?"

My stomach climbed into my mouth as she said it, and for a moment I was relieved that Cosima didn't understand French. But that moment didn't last long, because when I looked up, her eyebrows were raised, as if she were asking, 'Well, why not?'

"Did you understand her?" I asked, trying to keep a straight face, and simultaneously trying to think of the lie I would translate.

"I understood enough," she said, leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand..

"Oh," I said.

She kept looking at me. I bit my lip.

"I'm not a good dancer," I said.

"Me neither," she said. "But neither is that guy, and no one has stopped him."

She pointed over her shoulder at the man in the purple silk shirt. I glanced at him, at his sweaty red face and balding head which glistened in the lamplight. He was a mess, but he looked happy, and miraculously, the woman dancing with him looked happy, too.

I remembered the only other woman who had ever asked me to dance, and I remembered the jealousy I had felt to see her dance with another. I knew right away that if I saw Cosima dance with anyone else, the jealousy would be worse, much worse - unbearable.

 _I'll be damned to let her dance with anyone else!_ I thought.

I picked up the glass of cognac and took a long drink, though I knew full well that it was meant to consumed in such a reckless manner.

"Okay," I said. "Let's do it."

"Okay!" she said, pushing back her chair.

Madame Bijou was right, the song was lovely. It wasn't too fast or too slow. And when we stood facing eachother at the edge of the dancefloor, I was only scared for a moment that this was a bad idea.

But then, Cosima reached for my hand, locking it with hers, and she smiled up at me. I laughed nervously as she stepped closer, placing her hand delicately on my back. I placed my hand on her shoulder, and it all happened so easily, so naturally, that in a moment we were dancing, and I wasn't scared at all.

There wasn't much room to move about, but we managed to sway and turn in our own little space. Plus, avoiding the other dancers gave us something to do and to laugh about.

And we laughed, alot. We laughed until the song tempo changed to something a little slower. We stood still for a moment, and I half-expected Cosima's hands to fall away, but they did not. No, if anything, she squeezed my hand tighter, as if she, too, were afraid I might let go.

 _Don't worry,_ I thought. _I'm not going anywhere._

And when the slower song started up, we turned in slow circles, and there was less chance to bump into the other couples, who had pulled into tighter embraces, freeing up space on the dancefloor.

I finally felt the air circulate around us and between us. I took a deep breath and looked down at Cosima.

"So," I said. "I'm guessing that you handled Monseuir Lumiere well?"

"Oh, him?" she said. "He's a big softy."

"A softy?" I said, surprised. "He's the town grouch."

"Really?" she said. "I thought he was quite charming."

"Charming?" I said.

"Oh, yes," she said. "And a generally agreeable sort of fellow."

"You're joking," I said.

"No," she said. "I offered to pay for the damage to his field, and he agreed right away."

"I'm sure he did," I said.

"He also agreed to accept a small rent on the field, just for a few days, while I do repairs," she said, obviously proud of her arrangement.

"Rent?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

"Well," I said, "It sounds like you're the charming one. Monseuir Lumiere is a grumpy old miser."

She only smiled at that.

"A few days, huh?" I said. "Do you know what's wrong with the plane?"

"Not yet," she said. "That's what Felix is for."

"Felix is a mechanic?" I said.

"Yes," she said, looking at Felix who was still leaning over the bar. "A bit hard to believe, I know, but he is an excellent mechanic. Plus, it's his plane. If anyone can fix it, it should be him, right?"

"So, he's the cousin?" I said. "But he's British."

"It's a long story," she said.

"Oh," I said.

"Anyway, he nearly flipped a wig when I got him on the line in the hotel. But by the time he flew up here he cooled off a little. And once we found out about this place…"

"Wait," I said. "He flew up here."

"Yes," she said. "How else could he get here so fast?"

"How many planes does he have?" I asked.

"Well, technically, one," she said. "The one in the sunflower field. The other one is his father's."

"Wow," I said. "A family of aviationists."

"Sort of," she said. "Though I'm just a beginner, as you might have guessed by my landing today."

"Beginner?" I said. "How long have you been flying?"

"Three days," she said.

"Non!" I said, a little too loudly. "Non! Now you must be joking!"

I was yelling, but she didn't seem to mind.

"I'm dead serious," she said. "Three days, honest."

"You're insane!" I said, looking at her out of the corner of my eye, unsure whether she was teasing me or not.

"Yes," she said. "Maybe."

The song changed then, and I realized how close we were dancing; so close that her arm was almost completely wrapped around my back, and our forearms and wrists were pressed to together, creating a sweaty friction, and when I looked down our chests were nearly touching.

"But it's basic aerodynamics," she said, suddenly pushing me away with one hand, but holding tight to my palm with the other.

She spun me around and pulled me back.

"Even when the engine cuts out, the plane will simply lose altitude," she said, twirling me around again, in the opposite direction.

"...gliding all the way down to the ground until you land safely. It's not so dangerous really," she said.

She slipped her arm back around my waist, and then we were both bopping to the happy beat.

"You make it sound so easy," I said. "But you've forgotten one thing."

"What's that?" she said.

"I've seen you fly," I said.

"And?" she said.

"And you almost killed me," I said.

"Well," she said. "The rules of basic aerodynamics don't account for beautiful French girls throwing themselves beneath your landing gear."

"Throwing myself!?" I said. "I was just walking home, minding my own business, when you nearly glided your plane right over my head!"

 _Wait,_ I thought, my mind slow from the alcohol. _Did she just say I was beautiful?_

I was about to ask her, but we were interrupted.

"Sorry to interrupt," Laurent said, placing his hand on my shoulder. "But it's time to go."

In one quick motion, Cosima's hand dropped from my waist, and my hand fell from her shoulder, and we both turned toward Laurent.

"What?" I said. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly ten o'clock," he said. "We must leave soon, if we want to catch the last bus."

I sighed, bringing my hand to my forehead in disbelief. But then I looked at Cosima, and she smiled. She reached for my hand and squeezed it.

"Hello," Laurent said. "I'm Laurent."

And that was the extent of his English, but he didn't need English with his warm smile.

"Hello," Cosima said. "I'm Cosima."

And they shook hands, and I looked back and forth between them, hating that I had to leave.

"Do you know each other?" Laurent asked me in French.

"Sort of," I said. "Ehm, can you give us a minute?"

"Sure," he said. "I'll be waiting outside."

He smiled at Cosima one more time and nodded his head. "Au revoir, Cosima."

"Au revoir, Laurent," she said with a slight wave of her hand and a bounce on her toes.

She was still holding my hand.

"Look," I said, "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"It's fine," Cosima said, her head tilted to the side. "Anyway, Monseuir Lumiere said I could come over anytime, so I guess I'll be seeing you again...very soon."

I bit my lip.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay," she said.

But neither of us moved. I felt her thumb rub against the back of my hand and it sent shivers through my body. Maybe she saw.

"Thanks for the dance," she said.

"I should go," I said.

I leaned in then, swallowing hard before I touched her cheek with mine. Then I leaned back and moved to the other cheek. Our eyes met for a moment in passing, and it was like lightning had struck right through my stomach. I kissed her other cheek and then walked away without saying goodbye.

I headed straight for the door without looking back.

I was embarrassed, you see. My entire body was on fire, and my head was spinning, and I'm not sure if it was the temperature of the room, or the cognac and vodka mixing my stomach, or the lingered sensation of her lips on my cheek, but I felt suddenly last thing I needed was to throw up right then and there.

So I hurried toward the door, pushing it open as quickly as I could, stepping out into the night air, more than a little out of breath.

"Are you alright?" Laurent said.

"Yes," I said. "I'm fine. Just a little drunk."

"See," he said. "You should have stuck to wine."

But he helped me to the bus stop anyway, and the whole bus ride home, he let me rest my head on his shoulder, and if he had questions about the woman I was dancing with, he kept them to himself, and I was thankful for that, because I wouldn't even know how to start talking about her, or about what had just happened.

What could I have said at that moment? What did I really know about her anyway?

 _She's a pilot_ , I thought. _Except she's not really a pilot. And her eyes contain all the colors of a field of sunflowers, but sometimes they don't. And she is renting Lumiere's field. And her cousin is British and a mechanic. And she said...I was beautiful._


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up early the next morning, when the sky was still a dark blue and the birds hadn't even started their songs yet. I say wake up, as if I had actually been sleeping, but I hadn't really slept at all. Instead, I had tossed and turned, my forehead hot and my limbs sweaty with fever; tossed and turned until the sheets were balled up at my feet and my nightshirt had risen up to my armpits.

Sometimes I'd drift into dreams, but they were shallow and filled with the sounds of pulsing accordion tunes. I kept hearing Madame Bijou's voice, laughing in great gusts, and I kept feeling Cosima's lips on my cheek; so, so, soft and tingling like electricity.

Then I'd wake, a sweat stain on my pillow and one eye half-open. I'd wake, raise my head and roll over onto my back, sometimes touching my own cheek, sometimes touching my own breast, sometimes biting the back of my own hand before drifting back into the shallowness. I willed the images to reappear. I willed my subconscious to relive that dance and that kiss, over and over.

It went like that until morning. It went like that until I stood up, my body so sore from the night's exertion that I couldn't possible lay still any longer.

I walked to the window and looked out.

Monsieur Lumiere's sunflower field was a dim blue, and overhead, a few stars still twinkled. I felt for a moment, that they, too, couldn't sleep; that they, too, were waiting eagerly for the return of the pilot, or, at the very least, for the return of the sun. I felt them wink at me, as if to say, 'Patience is a virtue.'

I pulled open the window and took a deep breath. The air was cool against my sweaty forehead.

 _I wonder when she'll come,_ I thought. _And I wonder how long she'll stay. Hours? Days? Oh, please, let it be days!_

Just then, I heard the muffled sounds of my father's footsteps downstairs in the kitchen. Yes, of course he was awake, already preparing for a long day in the vineyards.

I changed my clothes and went downstairs.

"Bonjour, papa," I said as I rubbed at my eyes.

"Bonjour, Delphine!" he said from his place at the stove. "What a surprise this is!"

"Can't sleep," I said.

"Good! Then we can put you to work this morning!" he said.

"Okay," I said, trying not to sound too interested. "Are you out in the vineyards today?"

"Yes, I should think so...in the morning that is. But by noon I should walk down to Lumiere's."

"Lumiere's?" I said, my eyes suddenly wide open.

"Yes," my father said, pouring himself some coffee. "He wants to test the grapes. I said it's too early, they aren't ready yet, but he says he wants to check anyway. So now I have to haul off a batch for him. I told him it's a waste of good grapes, but you know how he is. Never listens to no one."

"Well, I can help you carry them."

"That's very kind of you, Delphine," he said. "But I was just joking earlier. You know I have Laurent and Ethan for that sort of thing."

"Ethan is coming today?" I said.

"Of course," he said. "He comes every Saturday."

"Right," I said.

I did the mental arithmetic in my head, weighing the pros and cons. On the one hand, I looked forward to any excuse to be outside, just in case Cosima and Felix arrived. On the other hand, it was a general rule of mine to be anywhere that Ethan was not. He was a nice guy, harmless really, but he was always staring and I didn't like it.

Once, out behind the barn, he had tried to invite me to the cinema, his hat in his hands and his head down. I'd made an excuse. I'd said I was studying or working or helping mother with something.

"Oh, right, of course," he'd said putting his hat back on.

"Maybe another time," I'd said, but I hadn't really meant it.

He hadn't known that though, because just after the words had come out of my mouth, he'd looked up at me with big, puppy dog eyes and a dopey grin.

"Another time, then," he'd said.

Ever since then, I'd been avoiding him, avoiding that inevitable 'another time.'

"Maybe I will just clean up the house before Mother wakes up," I said.

"Aren't you a sweet girl?" my father said, leaning over to kiss the top of my head. "I'm sure she will really appreciate that."

And then he was out the door, a lunchbox in one hand and a thermos in the other. I walked to the sink, poured myself a glass of water and sighed. I glanced out the window, disappointed to see that the sky had not changed color at all, disappointed to see those few stars still clinging to the horizon.

"Patience," they winked at me.

At that moment, standing in the kitchen, being only a teenager with a teenager's sense of time, it felt like I had to wait a lifetime, an eternity even, before Cosima might arrive.

But in truth, it was only a few hours, _could have only been_ a few hours, before the sun was nearly straight over head and the house was as tidy as it could be. All the clothes and bedsheets were washed, and the dishes washed, too.

"I don't know what's gotten into you!" my mother said. "I should let you go to the cinema more often!"

I blushed at the thought. I blushed because when my mother mentioned the lie, my mind did a strange retelling, placing me in the dark, looking up at a brightly lit screen, with Cosima sitting next to me, her face lit up as well, and both of our arms sharing the same armrest.

I shivered.

"It's nothing," I said, setting the dish rag on the counter by the sink.

That's when I heard it, the distant rumble-rumble-pop of a motorcar engine. I leaned way over the sink, trying to get a better look down the road, but all I saw was Laurent's back as he leaned over a grapevine. He stood up, looking down the road. Then he smiled. He smiled so big, I could see it from the kitchen window. He turned around and shouted toward the house, his hands cupped around his mouth.

"Delphine! Delphine! Can you come out here?!"

I ran to the door.

"What is he shouting about?" my mother called after me.

"He needs some help!" I said, slipping on my sandals at the door.

"Where's Ethan?" my mother said.

"I don't know," I said. "Gotta go!"

I got outside just in time to see them approach, not in a motorcar as I had previously thought, but on a motorcycle with a sidecar. As they came up over the hill, the motorcycle's engine rumbled so noisily, and the sidecar kicked up so much dust, creating an unusual spectacle for our small neighborhood.

My mother pushed open the front door. My brother hopped over the vineyard fence. My father and Ethan both came out of the barn. We all stood by and watched, and who could blame us?

The two riders were a sight to behold, both wearing leather jackets and leather helmets and goggles. Felix drove the motorcycle; I could tell it was him by his long face, and by the white scarf that billowed behind him. Cosima sat in the sidecar, her knees tucked up close to her chest, and a huge smile on her petite face.

She waved, and without thinking, I waved back.

Felix pulled the motorcycle right up close to me, and then he cut the engine.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle," he said in English. "Have you, by any chance, noticed any wrecked aeroplane's in the vicinity?"

I laughed.

"Or," Cosima added from her seat in the side car. "Would you be able to point us in the direction of the Lumiere residence? I hear Monsieur Lumiere is a very agreeable fellow, and we have some business to attend to."

"It's just that way," I said, pointing up the road. "I'm sure he's expecting you."

"Thank you," Felix said. "You're a lamb, a true lamb."

And just like that, he turned the ignition and the engine whirred.

"I'll see you soon!" Cosima shouted over the noise.

She waved again. And once more, I could not helping waving back.

They sped off down the road toward Lumiere's, nearly clipping Laurent where he stood by the fence. Laurent jumped out of the way, waving his hands in front of his face, trying to avoid the cloud of dust that had been kicked up around him.

"Who are they?" my mother said.

"Ehm…" I said.

"Do you know them?" she asked.

"Not really," I said. "I think they crashed a plane in Lumiere's field."

"You think?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you think or you know," my mother said. "They either crashed a plane or they didn't."

"They did...I mean, she did."

"She?" my mother said, sounding more confused by the moment. "That was a woman?"

"Yes, well, one of them, yes," I said, tired of my mother's questions. "I'm going to make lemonade."

"Lemonade?"

My mother followed me back into the kitchen. She was loaded with questions, all of which I tried my best to answer truthfully, if not reluctantly. Regardless, she helped me with the lemonade - she was better at making it - and then she filled two wine decanters, slipping them into a basket with four fresh glasses.

"Do you think four glasses is enough?" she asked. "No, no, it's definitely not. Let's see...there are the two pilots, the Lumieres, perhaps your father, Laurent, Ethan, and us…"

"Us?"

"Well, yes," she said. "I'm coming with you! It's not everyday you get to meet a real-life aviationist! And a lady aviationist at that!"

"No, it's certainly not!" I said, and I couldn't hide the excitement in my own voice.

I knew why she was excited. She was excited because she was going to get the first scoop on the gossip. She was excited because that evening she was going to walk the main road in Rosheim with her head held high, stopping anyone she happened to pass, and saying, 'Did you hear about the lady pilot who crashed a plane in Lumiere's field?!'

I just hoped that she thought we were excited for the same reasons.

"Anyway, that makes nine! Oh my goodness, nine glasses!" she said. "I'm not even sure we've made enough lemonade!"

I stood at the door with the basket already hanging at the crook of my elbow. I rolled my eyes at her hesitation.

"Let's go, Mama! Let's go!"

"Alright, alright! I just don't want to embarrass myself."

We found them out in the sunflower field.

Mother was right; all of them were there, gathered around the plane. Felix pulled a flower from the propeller and tossed it to the ground. Then he moved to the tires and gave them a good look. Meanwhile, Cosima stood with her goggles and her helmet in her hands as she charmed the Lumieres with her hand gestures.

I could not hear what she was saying, but I got the impression they were struggling to communicate. Her smile often stretched to one side in a sort of wince, and she pulled nervously at the red handkerchief around her neck.

When she saw me, her shoulders relaxed and her lopsided smile shifted into a thankful grin. She waved.

"Bonjour!" my mother called. "We brought lemonade for your guests!"

"Bonjour," Monsieur Lumiere grunted.

"Delphine!" Cosima said, taking a step toward me. "Thank god, you're here!"

"Hello, Cosima," I said. "What's the problem?"

"Oh, well, it's simple you see," she started, wringing her helmet in her hands as she spoke. "I was just trying to explain to Monsieur Lumiere, here, that I was not able to obtain the funds to reimburse him, because the banks are closed today, but that I will pay him in full on Monday."

"On Monday?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

Behind me, my mother was pouring out glasses of lemonade, and her constant murmuring was making it difficult for me to think. Directly in front of me, Monsieur Lumiere stood with his arms crossed, staring down his long nose at me.

"Well?" he said. "Where's my money?"

Cosima looked back and forth between us. A nervous giggle escaped her lips.

"In the bank," I said. "And why shouldn't it be? It's Saturday."

Madame Lumiere rubbed at her husband's arm.

"That makes sense," she said. "That makes perfect sense, dear."

But Monsieur Lumiere merely squinted at me.

"When will I have it in my hand?" he said.

"Monday," I said.

My mouth went dry as he glanced sideways at Cosima, not moving his head at all.

"Lemonade?" my mother asked Madame Lumiere.

"Oh, yes, please! It's so hot out here!" she said.

Monsieur Lumiere waved my mother off, refusing the drink, and the longer he stood there, saying nothing, the more sweat gathered on my brow. Personally, I wanted to gulp down an entire glass, but I thought it best to wait.

Cosima must have been nervous, too, because wiped at her neck compulsively with the handkerchief.

Slowly, Monsieur Lumiere turned around, taking a good long look at Felix who was making his way around the plane, running his elegant fingers along the canvas body.

"He's the mechanic?" Lumiere asked.

"Yes," I said. "A very good one."

Lumiere twisted his mouth like he didn't believe me.

But then he sighed through his nose, and I felt the gust of air on my face.

"Alright," he said. "I will accept the payment on Monday. But if the plane isn't gone by then…"

"It will be gone, I swear!" Cosima said, crossing her heart with her finger.

Lumiere tilted his head toward her, and I knew he understood. He walked off then, without the lemonade. As he passed my father, he barked something about bringing the grapes around, and my father nodded his head like he understood, but made no move toward our house.

Madame Lumiere hung back a while. She and my mother stood a few meters off and chatted back and forth together, often glancing at Cosima and me.

The men - Laurent, my father, and Ethan - they were already moving toward the plane. They got close enough to get a good look at it, but they didn't touch.

"Bonjour boys," Felix said. "How do you like my toy?"

Laurent was quick to step up and ask questions about the plane. My father, he was more interested in offering solutions. And Ethan, he kind of just stood around and stared, like he always did.

"You came just in the nick of time," Cosima said, unzipping her jacket.

"Hmm?"

"I mean, you have perfect timing," she said. "Things were looking a little iffy there…for a minute."

"Monsieur Lumiere isn't as agreeable as you once thought?" I said.

She smiled, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand. "Guess not. And you're tougher than I once thought."

"He's a bully," I said. "The best way to deal with bullies is to talk straight."

"I see," she said, half of her face in shadow.

She tilted her head back to get a better look at my face, but I was squinting from the sun. We both laughed.

"You girls want some lemonade?" my mother called.

"Yes! Please!" Cosima said, nearly running to my mother's side.

We stood, facing each other, glancing at each other over the tops of our full glasses of lemonade. I took long gulps, because I was thirsty and nervous, and I didn't know what to say anyway. Maybe she felt the same, because she drank in long gulps, too, and she ended with a long 'Ahh!', just like people on those radio advertisements.

I watched my mother watch Cosima drink, and I could just see the questions boiling at the back of her throat.

"So," she said. "What's your…?"

But I cut her off.

"Her name is Cosima. She is American. That's her cousin, Felix. It's his plane. He's going to fix it," I said, rambling off the facts as fast as I could.

"Oh," my mother said.

I handed her my empty glass and Cosima's empty glass. Then, tugging at Cosima's sleeve, I excused us.

"Wha..?" my mother stammered. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to give her a tour of the vineyards," I said. "We'll be back soon."

We scurried up the road, the one that led to our old house, but we didn't stop at the house. We kept walking, following the road as it curved around, passed Lumiere's house, and then dipped down between two grapevine-covered hills.

"These are the vineyards," I said.

"I see that," she said.

But I had no intention of showing her the vineyards, because it was too hot to stand in the middle of endless rows of grapevines. Instead, I was leading her toward the small patch of woods, just on the other side of Lumiere's property.

"Will Felix miss you?" I asked.

"No, I don't think so," she said. "He has much more interesting people to keep him company now."

I smiled, remembering the way Laurent had asked so many eager questions about the plane.

"I think you're right," I said.

And then, finally, just as the sweat had gathered enough to drip down my spine, the road turned toward the woods, and for the first time that day, in the cool, quiet shade of the trees, we found ourselves alone.


	5. Chapter 5

"So," I said, leading Cosima into the shade of the Alder trees. "How long did you stay at Le Chiot?"

"Last night?" she said, leaning her head back, looking up at the high branches and taking a deep breath.

"Yes."

I glanced at the smudge of dirt on her neck.

"Not so late," she said, shoving her helmet and goggles into her pockets. "We left about an hour after you did."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," she said, pulling off her leather jacket, sleeve by sleeve. "I had no reason to stay, but Felix… Let's just say, he found lots of reasons to stay, if you know what I mean."

"I think so."

She tied her jacket around her waist.

We walked along in silence, following a side path that led off the main road. We followed the path until it came down to a narrow, fast-moving creek.

"Wow!" she gasped. "It's beautiful!"

She stepped out onto a boulder, and the boulder jutted out into the water, and the heels of her boots clomped loudly, and I watched her go, staying back, leaning against a tree.

"Yes, it is," I said. "I come here often."

"I would, too," she said. "I'd come here every day! You know, it reminds me of the Muir Woods."

"The Muir Woods?" I said. "Where's that?"

"Near San Francisco," she said. "That's where I was born."

"Oh?" I said. "California?"

"Yeah. Do you know much about San Francisco?"

"Only what I've seen in the movies, or read in books."

"You should go someday," she said. "I think you'd like it."

"I'm sure I would. But I've never really gone anywhere, except Strasbourg."

"No? Not even Paris?"

"Once, I think. But I don't remember it."

"Your family doesn't travel?"

I had to laugh at that.

"My family?! No! No, no, no. My family has the vineyards. We can't leave them. There's too much work to do."

"I see," she said. "Well, maybe one day."

"Yes, I hope so," I said. "I've applied to several universities there. I'm just waiting to hear back."

"Oh? What will you study?"

"Linguistics, probably. Or maybe medicine. Or maybe biology. I'm not sure."

"Wow," she said. "You have a lot of interests!"

"Yes. I think too many, sometimes."

"Linguistics, huh?"

"Yes, I want to study and compare languages - the similarities, the differences. I think language is fascinating because we all use it, every day, to communicate any number of things; things as mundane as a grocery list, or a recipe; and things as extraordinary as a poetry, novels or _The Odyssey._ And we do it like it's no big deal, but really, it's pretty amazing. It's amazing because with less than a hundred different unique sounds, we can communicate every idea that's ever been thought, in any language."

I looked up and she was staring at my mouth. I licked my lips and smiled.

"You think I'm silly," I said.

"No," she said. "I'm impressed, which is impressive, because I'm not easily impressed."

"I don't know…" I said. "You seem like a linguist yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for instance, you seemed to understand Madame Bijou pretty well last night. In fact, you seem to understand everyone pretty well. I think you know more than you are letting on."

"Comprehension and speech are two completely different things," she said. "Besides, I get too frustrated trying to speak in another language. I have too many ideas, and too many things I want to say, and I can't handle the mental hurdles of trying to think in another language. But you do it marvelously."

I blushed.

"Merci," I said.

We were both quiet for a moment. She kicked the toe of her boot against the boulder she stood on. She put her hands on her hips and looked down.

"Anyway, my family travels all the time," she said. "Maybe too much."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she said. "My father does some kind of top secret work for the British government, but I'm not supposed to tell you that. So now that I've told you, I should probably kill you."

She looked up with a stern expression.

"You're joking."

"Only about the killing part."

"Oh," I said, crossing my arms.

She smiled then, laughing at her own joke.

"Relax," she said. "He does geographical surveys. He makes maps and stuff."

"Ah! Un cartographe!"

"Yeah, exactly!"

"Maps of what?"

"Whatever his boss asks him to," she said. "We've been to England, Germany, Belgium and now we are here, in France. Next, he says we are going to Egypt."

"Wow!" I said. "You really do travel a lot! I'd die to go to Egypt! I'd love to see the hieroglyphics!"

"It sounds like a lot, but it doesn't feel that way," she said. "We moved to England first when I was nine. That's where I met Felix. His father and my father are partners, I guess. Felix's father flies the planes, and my dad sits in the back, taking photographs or making notes."

"Ahha!" I said. "So you're not really cousins?"

"Not really, but we might as well be," she said. "We've been together so long, we're just like family."

"I see," I said, nodding my head in concentration. "I see."

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," I said. "I was just thinking...last night...at Le Petit Chiot…"

"What?"

"I was thinking that it was strange for cousins to...you know...both…"

"Both what?" she said, taking a step closer.

"Nothing," I said, looking down at my finger as I scratched at the Alder tree. "It's nothing. Nevermind."

"To both be inverts?" she said.

I looked up at the word. I'd never heard it before.

"What's an invert?" I said.

"You know…" she said, taking another step toward me. "Fairies? Deviants? That's what you meant, isn't it?"

"Yes, I guess so," I said. "What was that word?"

"In...vert," she said, over-pronouncing the word, drawing all my attention to her lips as she said it.

"Invert," I repeated softly, willing myself to remember the word. _Le inverti?_

"That's what the head shrinks call us," she said. "But I don't like the word. It sounds like we are backwards, or inside out or something. It sounds like there's a mistake, like something is off-kilter and needs to be uprighted. But there's nothing off-kilter about me. I should know, shouldn't I?"

"Of course."

There was a hint of aggression in her voice, and though I knew it wasn't directed at me, I decided it was best to let the subject drop.

Cosima, on the other hand, had other ideas.

"And to answer your first question," she said. "Yes, we are both...the same. What are the chances, right? What are the chances that two best friends would be the same?"

"You're lucky," I said. "Another statistical improbability… a fortunate one."

"Yeah, I guess so," she said, laughing. "And what about you?"

"Me?"

"You and your brother?"

"Laurent?" I said. "Well, I think he is…"

I wanted to use the new word, _invert_ , but she was right, something about it felt uncomfortable. And words like _fairy_ or _deviant_ seemed equally silly or sinister. Neither described him.

"He has always liked boys...men, I mean. I never really thought it was strange. That's just Laurent."

"And you?"

She was standing so close, her body heat radiated against my arm. She reached up and touched the same tree, running her finger in the same back and forth motions over its fissured bark.

I swallowed hard.

"Me?"

"Who do you like?" she asked.

Her voice was tight, like the question was uncomfortable, like she might not want to know the answer.

 _You_! I thought right away. _I like you_!

"I don't know," I said instead, shrugging my shoulders and looking away. "I mean, I never really thought about it much."

 _Lies!_ I thought.

I smiled to myself. I don't know why I smiled. There was nothing to smile about, but I felt her staring at me - at the side of my face - and it made me hot all over.

 _She knows,_ I thought. _Just tell her! She already knows!_

I looked at her then. She met my smile with a smile of her own. She tilted her head to the side, giggled and leaned back from the tree.

"I don't know," I repeated, looking back at my own hand. "I mean, I've never really felt much of anything...for anyone...I mean, I would see the way Laurent looked at his friends when we were younger. And then, when he started taking me to that bar, I saw how these men had such power over him...how just a little attention from a handsome guy could put him in a good mood for days...or, the opposite...the rejection would tear him up and he'd stay in bed and my mother would be sick with worry over him, not knowing what was wrong. It all seemed a little silly to me, because I'd never felt anything like that...not for a boy...not for a girl, either."

I looked back at her, checking to see if she understood. She said nothing, but she smiled softly.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe I'm a late bloomer. That's what my mother always says. But I'm not so sure…"

I glanced her way and she was still listening, still smiling. She made no move to interrupt me, and so I kept going, kept talking, kept saying things that I hadn't said to anyone before.

"For instance," I said. "There's this boy, Ethan. He helps my family with the work in the vineyards. My father wants to take him on as a fulltime apprentice. But if Ethan becomes an apprentice, I just know my parents are going to get ideas."

"What kind of ideas?"

"The kind that involve weddings."

"Oh…"

"The truth is, he's a nice guy, I guess," I said. "But he stares at me and it makes me really uncomfortable. And I just don't know what we would talk about. He never says much of anything. And one time he asked me to go to the cinema with him, and the idea made my skin crawl."

"I guess it's not going to work out," she said.

"No, I guess not."

"I guess you're going to have to tell your parents," she said, laughing. "Try to break it to them easily."

"Yeah, I guess so."

I felt her looking at me again, and it occurred to me that I didn't mind it. I didn't mind her staring. No, in fact, I craved it; craved her attention and the way it made me feel.

 _Why is it different?_ I wondered to myself. _Why is she different? Why am I different around her?_

"Well," she said. "What about your school friends? Did you ever like one of them...more than you should?"

"No," I said. "No, not like this…"

And then I shut my mouth and I caught my breath.

 _Merde!_ I thought. _I talk too much!_

"Like what?" she said.

I smiled again, or rather, my mouth seemed to smile without my consent. My cheeks pushed up, and my skin flushed and my eyes watered, and I had no control over any of it. I bit my lip and swallowed, looking away from her, looking up toward the road instead.

"Delphine? Like what?"

I shook my head from side to side. "Like nothing," I said, but my throat was blocked up with a knot of tension.

I crossed my arms and took a step backwards.

"Are you hungry?" I said without looking at her.

"Yeah, sure," she said.

"There are some cherry trees up the road," I said. "It's a little late in the season, but maybe there are still some fruits left."

Though I couldn't see her, though she was a few steps behind me, I heard her smirk.

"Fruits?"

"Yes," I said, realizing my mistake. "I mean, fruit."

I felt her fingertip brush the back of my elbow. I turned to look at her, but still feeling shy.

"I always get that one wrong," I said. "Almost always."

"It's okay. It's cute."

"Fruit," I said again. "Why? Why this one word?"

"I don't know."

"And fish!"

"And deer," she added. "Don't forget deer."

"I hate English," I said, turning away from her.

I led her to the cherry trees. Their branches were untamed, growing in jagged patterns and arching downwards out at the ends. I led her to my favorite tree. It was my favorite because the branches hung so low that the ends swept the ground, creating a curtain of dark green leaves. When standing outside the perimeter of them, you could barely see inside to the trunk, but once standing on the inside, you could barely see the world beyond.

"Don't tell Monsieur Lumiere we came here," I said, crouching down under the branches.

"Are we trespassing again?" she said, following me.

"Technically," I said. "But he hardly ever gets out here. He's too focused on his vineyards to care about a few cherries. In fact, the only time he even remembers they are here is if he catches me and Laurent with our hands full."

Once we ducked beneath the outer reaches of the branches, we stood up, and the dark green leaves surrounded us on all sides.

"Wow!" Cosima said, spinning around. "This is so...charming."

"I love this place," I said. "You should see it in the spring, when everything is covered in pink flowers. It's so beautiful!"

"I believe it!" she said.

"When we were kids, in the spring, when the flowers were blooming, Laurent and I both pretended this was our palace, but in the summer, when the leaves were dark like this, I always insisted it was our jungle fortress."

"Yes, I can imagine," she said. "It's the perfect place for a jungle fortress! I bet you had tons of adventures here!"

"Yes!" I said. "We played war sometimes. Or pretended we were exploring the Amazon, or the North Pole. Sometimes, we just played house, you know, sweeping the floor and baking mud pies."

"How domestic," she said.

"Not always. Sometimes this was our pirate ship, and all around us were sharks. It was my job to climb the mast and be the look out while Laurent fished for our dinner."

I laid a hand on the tree trunk and looked up.

"Climb the mast, huh?" Cosima said, looking up with me.

"I'm too big to climb it now," I said.

"Maybe not. The branches look strong."

She patted the tree trunk heartily.

_Tap! Tap! Tap!_

"I can't! I'm wearing a dress!"

"I promise not to look. I'll be a complete gentlewoman."

She crossed her heart with her finger and I stood with my hand on the trunk, contemplating.

"Alright," I said. "Just once!"

I gathered my skirt up between my knees. Then I turned to her with a bossy finger in the air.

"Don't even think about it," I said.

"Don't worry about me," she said. "I'll be too busy fishing anyway. A girl's gotta eat, right?"

She walked over to wear the branches sagged toward the ground and kneeled down. She picked up a stray twig, and balancing back onto her hind quarters, she looked just like a quaint painting of a fisherman on a rock, overlooking the sea.

"Incroyable! Il ya tellement de poissons!" she shouted, her voice dropping an octave. "Gros poissons incroyable!"

I laughed and began to climb up the tree, which wasn't as tall as I had remembered.

"Je n'ai jamais vu un tel gros poisson!" she continued in her best impression of a Frenchman.

I didn't have the heart to tell her she sounded ridiculous.

"Oh! Regardez! Un dolphine!"

I reached the top of the tree, and I was tempted to stand up and look out, but thought better of it; I wasn't as small as I used to be. Instead, I perched myself on the sturdiest branch I could find, which was no more than a few meters off the ground, and I watched Cosima's back.

"Un dolphine?" I called back to her.

"Bien sûr!"

"Et quoi d'autre?" I said. _And what else?_

"Oh! J'ai attrapé quelque chose!" she said, standing up suddenly.

She yanked on her imaginary fishing pole emphatically, miming the actions of a fisherman in the middle of a good catch. Her leather jacket slipped from her hips, gliding down her legs to the ground.

"Qu'Est-ce que c'est!?" I said through giggles.

"Je ne sais pas! Quelque chose de grand! Énorme!"

I was in a fit of laughter now. She pulled and pulled up on the twig, arching her back in great exertion, and grunting like a fool.

"Ahha!" she said finally. She held up her imaginary catch to me, quite proud.

"Qu'Est-ce que c'est?"

She thought for a moment, and then, not sure how to say what she wanted to say, she switched back into English.

"This is a very rare creature," she said. "Warm-blooded...very intelligent...an excellent swimmer...a natural communicator...lovely brown eyes and a fair complextion...and from what I've heard, delicious!"

"Oh?"

"Do you know what it is?" she asked, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"I don't know. What?"

"You sure you don't want to guess?"

"I don't know...a dolphine?"

"So close!"

"Not a dolphine?"

"No, not a dolphine, but a...Delphine," she said slowly, quite proud of herself.

I groaned even as the first syllable of my name slipped past her lips. She bowed anyway.

"That's awful!" I said, plucking a handful of cherries from the tree and tossing them at her.

"Oh, non! Il a peur! Il nage loin!" she said, pretending to watch the imaginary creature swim away. She stood with her hand over her brow, as if she were looking out over the horizon and not at a wall of dark green leaves.

"Now what will we eat?" she asked.

"Here!" I said, reaching up and plucking down another handful of bright red cherries. "You must try these! They are not sweet like other cherries, but that's what makes them special."

I scurried down the tree without a thought for my skirt and where she might be looking.

I held out my hand. She reached for a single cherry, which was still attached to the bunch at the stem. We giggled as we pulled them apart. Then I watched her face as she ate the cherry, as she pulled the stem away from her lips, as her eyes went wide at the flavor, as she smiled and rolled the pit around on her tongue.

She coughed as her eyes watered.

"Well?" I said.

"You're right," she said, spitting the pit onto the ground. "They're not very sweet at all!"

"You don't like it?"

"No, I like it...it's just not what I expected."

"I love them!" I said, popping a cherry into my mouth. "I love the intense flavor."

"Let me try again," she said, stretching her arm up, stretching toward a branch that was out of her reach.

I tried not to stare, but I glanced, very quickly, at the place where her cotton blouse was tucked into her trousers. I glanced at the way the fabric stretched tightly across her stomach as she reached her arm out.

Suddenly her words came back to me.

_Did you ever like one of them...more than you should?_

I glanced at her again; at her wild curls, at her leather boots, at her cotton shirt and men's trousers, at the delicate glasses that sat on her nose as she stretched toward those cherries that were just out of her reach.

I took a step toward her. Without thinking, I pulled down on her forearm.

"Here," I said. "Let me."

I reached up, and though I had to stand on tippy-toes, it took very little effort to pluck down the bunch she had been reaching for.

When I settled back onto my heels and looked down at her, I found myself very close to her, nearly on top of her. I found myself still holding fast to her forearm. And now she was holding fast to my waist, just like she had the night before, just like we were dancing again. Only there was no music; save for the sound of the birds and the breeze; save for the sound of my own pulse pounding in my ears.

I stood like a statue, with the cherries raised overhead, caught in her sunflower gaze.

She smiled.

I smiled.

Then her eyes shot to my lips and back up again.

Still I couldn't move. Her hands were hot. I was sweating.

I was overwhelmed by the closeness of her face. I wasn't sure where to look, so I looked at everything; at her brows, at her pupils, at the beauty mark on her cheek, at her pale lips just as she took a breath and spoke.

"Je veux..." she said, but then she stalled.

My heart! My heart was pounding! I was certain she could hear it...or feel it.

I wasn't sure what she wanted, but I had a pretty good idea that whatever it was, I wanted it, too.

"D'accord," I whispered.

She smiled.

"I want to dance with you again," she said.

"Oh," I said, lowering my cherry-filled hand, feeling a bit foolish.

"And…" she said.

"And?"

She pulled me close by my waist. She leaned up. She tilted her head back. She closed her eyes as her mouth moved towards mine.

I did not close my eyes. I watched as her every gesture seemed to slow way down. I watched her body shift toward me. I watched the shadows of the cherry trees slip across her cheeks and forehead. I watched the sun reflect off her glasses in a starburst of light. I watched her pale lips purse as she moved toward me. But then she was so close, I couldn't see them anymore.

Only then, at the very, very last moment did I close my eyes.

Only then, did our lips brush together. A surge of energy rushed through me, and all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and all the muscles in my stomach tightened, and I stood absolutely still, my whole body clenched in anticipation.

But it was only for an instant; a blue hot instant.

"Delphine?" someone called in the distance.

Cosima jumped away from me, just as the footsteps approached. She leaned against the tree trunk, and I turned toward our intruder, still holding the cherries in my hand.

I recognized his voice right away.

"Delphine?" he said again.

"Yes, Ethan," I said, brushing my own tingling lips with the back of my hand. "I'm here. We're here."

"Where?" he said, standing just beyond the leafy branches.

I reached a hand out and waved.

"Here!" I said.

He ducked underneath the branches and stepped into our jungle fortress; into our pirate ship. He must have known right away that he was not welcome, because he seemed to shrink beneath the branches, even though there was plenty of room to stand up.

"Wow," he said. "You can't see anything of this from out there."

 _That's the point!_ I thought.

Then he noticed Cosima.

"Oh, bonjour," he said.

"Bonjour," she said back.

"What do you want?" I said, pushing my hair from my forehead.

"Ehm, your mother is looking for you," he said. "She says she needs your help for supper."

"Supper? At this hour?"

"Well," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, "your father has invited everyone to supper."

"Everyone?"

"Yes, the pilots, the Lumieres, everyone," he said, glancing at Cosima and then back to me.

"Oh," I said.

I turned toward Cosima.

"Looks like you're staying for supper," I said.

"Great!" she said, popping another cherry into her mouth. "I'm starved after all that fishing!"

I held back a giggle.

Ethan just stood there, staring.

"Well...thank you for the message, Ethan," I said.

He smiled sheepishly, but he made no move to leave.

"Ehm...you can tell my mother I'll be there soon."

"Sure," he said.

"I have one more thing to show Cosima, so…" I said, sighing deeply, hoping he would get the idea.

"Oh, bien," he said, finally backing away. "See you soon then."

He ducked back under the branches and we listened as the sound of his footsteps trailed off.

I turned back to Cosima. I held my breath. She picked up her leather jacket from the ground and dusted it off.

"So…" she said. "That was Ethan?"

"That was him."

"He seems...nice."

"As nice as a sack of flour," I said. "As interesting, too."

"Don't be so hard on him. You know what they say; still waters run deep."

"Yeah, maybe," I said. "Or maybe, still waters stagnate and attract flies."

She ate another cherry, pulling the stem out of her mouth and watching me watch her.

"Anyway," I said. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Do you think he saw us?"

"No," I said, and I felt fairly confident of that, but I blushed at the memory of the kiss. "But maybe we should get back soon."

"I thought you had something else to show me," she said. "Another secret hiding spot or something?"

"Non," I said, looking down.

I crossed my arms as if I could hide myself; as if I could hide my reddening cheeks or my trembling hands.

"Non," I said again. "I already showed you everything."

When I looked up, she smiled and leaned toward me.

"And I'm impressed," she said.

Our elbows touched as she passed. Then she ducked beneath the branches and waited for me on the other side.

I touched my lips again. I could not stop myself. I touched my lips with my fingertips. My whole body smiled.

 _More than I should?_ I thought. _Do I like her more than I should? Yes, I like her very much!_


	6. Chapter 6

I smiled all the way home. I smiled with my head down, my eyes cast to the ground, my hands swinging in uncomfortable arcs at my side. I was a bundle of nerves and limbs.

If Cosima noticed any of my clumsiness, she was kind enough to ignore it. Instead, she walked along beside me, saying nothing. The air between us was thick; thick and giddy.

All the while, I was torn. On the one hand, I wanted to run away; I wanted to run to my room and slam the door behind me, just so that I could have a moment to take a breath. On the other hand, I wanted to grab her by the elbow and pull her back into the shade of the cherry trees. But what we would do when we got there, I had no idea.

Once inside the house, my mother put us to work right away. She delegated tasks in a frantic sort of way and soon Cosima and I were standing on opposite ends of the table, glancing up at each other as my mother buzzed around us.

I rolled out dough, getting flour all over myself and the table. Cosima peeled potatoes, letting the skins fall into a large bowl.

My mother peppered her with questions and she answered them gracefully. And less than gracefully, I translated her answers. If she found the interrogation bothersome, she never let on. She kept smiling and making jokes, until, I swear, my mother was as charmed with her as I was.

By the time the food was prepared and the long patio table was set, the sun was already settling over the horizon. It lit up the sky with fluorescent pinks. The evening winds had picked up, sending occasional chills down my back.

Or, maybe it was Cosima. Maybe she was the one who was giving me chills.

She sat directly across from me, you see, and in the pinkish light of the sunset, her hair was backlit and glowing. The collar of her shirt, which was unbuttoned, slouched away from her neck and I couldn't stop myself from noticing the spot. I couldn't stop myself from imagining what it would be like to touch her, to push the collar even further down the slope of her shoulder.

Then she'd look up, our eyes would meet, and I'd feel that wave of pleasure.

That's where my mind was; so distracted by the woman in front of me that I barely heard the conversation around me. I barely listened as they discussed Lumiere's field or the airplane that was stuck there. I only distantly heard Felix's diagnosis of the situation, and I only paid attention because Cosima reacted so strongly, sitting straight up, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

"Well," Felix said, "I hate to say it, but it looks like a catastrophic engine failure."

"You're joking," Cosima said, nearly spitting out her food.

"A what?" my father said, and suddenly everyone at the table looked to me.

"A _catastrophic…"_ Felix said slowly, emphasizing every word, " _engine..._ _failure_. The crankshaft bearings have given out and, well, basically the entire engine has self-combusted. You're lucky to be alive, Cosima."

"What can I say? I'm a lucky girl."

She tried to laugh it off, but there was a twinge of fear in her smile.

"Oh, my," Madame Lumiere said. "What does that mean?"

"The engine is...ehm, broken," I translated.

"How broken?" my father said.

"Very," I said.

"Oh, dear," my mother said.

"Will they be out of my field by Monday?" Monsieur Lumiere asked.

Felix laughed at the question.

"It's not likely," he said in French, taking a sip of his wine. "I'll have to rebuild the whole thing from the ground up. And I'll have to order the parts from the manufacturer. It could take weeks."

"Weeks? No, it's unacceptable," Monsieur Lumiere grunted. "Unacceptable."

"Now, don't get upset," Madame Lumiere said.

"Well, what if we move it?" I said.

"Move it?" Felix said.

"Yes, we can move it to our barn with the tractor."

"That's true," Laurent said, turning to Felix. "The wheels still work, right?"

"As far as I can tell," Felix said.

"And it can't be that heavy. It's made of wood and canvas, isn't it?"

"Mostly, yes," Felix said. "Except for that wrecked engine."

"I think we can move it. I don't see why not? The tractor should be able to handle it, no problem. Father, isn't that right?!"

"Yes, that sounds alright," my father said, nodding his head in agreement.

Monsieur Lumiere watched the conversation with squinted eyes and a twisted up mouth. My father turned to him.

"What do you think of that?" my father said.

"As long as it is out of the way by Monday," Lumiere grunted. "And as long as I still get my renting fee."

"Of course," Cosima said, her face a little paler. "Of course. And we can pay you, too, Monsieur Cormier."

"Sure, sure," my father said. "Let's talk about the details later."

"Well, perfect," Madame Lumiere said, clapping her hands together. "Just perfect!"

Monsieur Lumiere shifted in his chair, then took a big bite of stew.

Cosima seemed to fidget in her chair, too, pushing her food around on her plate.

"So," my mother said with bright eyes. "It looks like we'll be seeing more of the aviationists around here!"

She couldn't hide her excitement, and neither could I.

"Most certainly," Madame Lumiere chimed in. "How lovely!"

"Of course, you are always welcome to stay here," my mother said. "There's no reason for you to commute into Strasbourg every day when we have plenty of room in the house."

I trembled at the thought. I glanced at Cosima. She smiled shyly and pushed her glasses up her nose.

"Thank you, Madame Cormier," Felix said. "That's very kind of you, but let's focus on moving that bird first. My father's going to hit the roof when he hears the news."

We all fell silent.

Someone had left the radio on in the sitting room and the music drifted out onto the patio; the singer's soprano blending in with the chirping crickets. Everyone ate, forking mouthfuls of stew into their faces. Everyone drank, sipping at their wine glasses with pensive expressions. Only Monsieur Lumiere seemed blasé about the idea of our guests staying longer.

A breeze kicked up, blowing a strand of hair across Cosima's face. She looked worried. I reached my foot out and nudged it against hers. She looked up, brushing the hair from her face, and our eyes met again.

'What's wrong?' I tried to say with my eyes.

She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, just barely, just so that I could see, as if to say, 'It's nothing, I'm fine.'

But I knew she wasn't fine, and that made me nervous.

"Did you know that Cosima and Felix have traveled all over Europe?" I said to the table.

"Oh, really?" Madame Lumiere said.

"Oh, yes!" I said. "They've been to England, Belgium, Germany…"

"Whereabouts in Germany?" Madame Lumiere said.

"Near Frankfurt," Cosima said. "I have family there."

"Oh! What a coincidence! We have family there, too," Madame Lumiere said. She glanced at her husband, checking to make sure he fully appreciated the coincidence.

He smiled half-heartedly and took another bite of stew.

"What's your family name?" Madame Lumiere said.

"Niehaus," Cosima said.

"Niehaus...Niehaus…hmmm, I don't think I know anyone named Niehaus," Madame Lumiere said. "My sister is there. Her husband's name is Schmidt, but you know, who's name isn't Schmidt?"

Cosima laughed, but somehow I knew that it wasn't her real laugh. Somehow I knew that she was only being polite. I took a sip of wine.

_Niehaus. Cosima Niehaus._

I mulled the name over in my mind, even as I mulled the wine over in my mouth. I liked the taste of it.

 _Niehaus,_ I thought. _Never home._

"But I've been living in England mostly, with Felix and his family," Cosima said.

"Ah! Yes! That's the accent!" Laurent said, turning to Felix. "Whereabouts? Near London?"

"Yes," Felix said. "I can take the train and be downtown in no time."

Felix snapped his fingers, and Laurent's face lit up.

"Oh, I'd love to go to London one day!" Laurent said.

"Would you, now?" my father chimed in. "I didn't know that."

"Yes," Laurent said. "I've always been interested in traveling."

"Hmm," my father said, looking down at his food. "Since when?"

"Well, I can't stay here forever," Laurent said.

We all fell silent again, and the song on the radio had changed to something a little more somber, the singer's voice full of sad vibrato.

"You should all come visit," Felix said, nervously stroking at the hair behind his ear. "The more the merrier!"

"And what's wrong with here?" my father said.

Laurent's cheeks reddened and he stuttered.

"Well, nothing," he said. "Nothing, but there's a lot more to see in the world… more to do… than stare at endless rows of grapevines and count endless barrels of wine."

Monsieur Lumiere grunted from his end of the table and leaned back with his arms crossed. The air was tense. Felix dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and Cosima took a long swig of her wine.

"I went to London once," Ethan said, startling everyone.

We all turned to him. We all stared; and I stared most of all.

"I didn't like it much," he said, holding his fork mid-air. "It smelled like urine and there was trash everywhere."

Cosima's eyebrows shot up. Then she turned her head to scan the faces of the other guests at the table.

"Of course," she said after clearing her throat. "Of course, it's important to travel, but I have to say…"

She spoke slowly, struggling to be accurate in her French. "...this town, Rosheim, and these hills and woods and vineyards, all of it...well, the scenery is really quite…"

Then she paused, glancing at me.

"...stunning."

A shiver ran down my spine and back up again, tickling me in many places at once, but then she turned away. She turned back toward my father with a polite smile on her lips.

My mother took a deep breath, bringing her hand to her chest. She looked as though she might cry because she was so happy; as if someone had just complimented her newborn baby. My father shifted in his chair, a smug expression on his face.

"You hear that," he said. "Rosheim is stunning."

Felix smirked in Cosima's direction, and I thought I saw him wink at her. I pretended not to notice.

Laurent, on the other hand, he just smiled his carefree smile and pushed his hair out of his face. He leaned back in his chair in a sportsmanlike acceptance of defeat, but I could tell he didn't feel as carefree as he was acting.

The night was taking a strange turn; the two most charming people at the table seemed to be wilting at the edges.

"Well said," Monsieur Lumiere grunted, lifting his wine glass in the air. "To Rosheim, and to Rosheim wines."

We all followed, raising our glasses and taking a long drink.

"You know," Madame Lumiere said. "I've never really traveled much, either. Never really felt the need to. Of course, I've traveled to Frankfurt, to see my sister, but I don't go there much these days. I don't much enjoy it, you know, with the way things are going over there; with that Chancellor they have over there. Things are starting to get...uncomfortable."

"That's an understatement," my father said.

As my father spoke, I noticed a shared look between Felix and Cosima, like they knew something the rest of us didn't. They looked to Madame Lumiere, then they looked to my father, then back to each other. Felix cleared his throat.

"Oh, come on," I said, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "Let's not talk about politics at the dinner table."

"You're right," Madame Lumiere said. "I don't want to spoil the good atmosphere."

 _What's left of it, anyway_ , I thought.

Madame Lumiere took a long sip of wine, and everyone sat quietly, not quite sure what topic to bring up next.

"I'm just worried about my sister," Madame Lumiere spoke up again. "She sends me letters about what's happening over there. You know, the Nazi's destroyed the synagogue right next to her house. They just drove up and set it on fire. She's lucky her own apartment building didn't catch on fire, too! I wrote back saying, 'Thank god you are safe and thank god you didn't marry a Jew!'"

Monsieur Lumiere grunted in agreement.

"Bless those poor souls," my mother said quietly.

"Yes, bless them," Madame Lumiere said. "You know, I have nothing against the Jews. I'm sure they're nice people, but I'm just glad we don't have to deal with that sort of thing around here. Someone could get hurt!"

"Someone is getting hurt," my father said. "Probably a lot of people. And Frankfurt is not so far as you think."

"Yes," she said. "Yes, yes, you're right. But can you just imagine? Can you imagine if soldiers just set the cathedral on fire? Just like that? With no warning? Something like that could destroy half the town. It's not like we have a professional fire service here in Rosheim."

"Oh, God forbid!" my mother said, crossing her hand in front of her chest.

"Well, maybe we should," Laurent said. "Maybe we should have a professional fire service. There's no reason why not."

"Expensive," Lumiere grunted. "That's why not."

"Well, a volunteer brigade, at least," Laurent said. "I might volunteer, if there was one."

"You most certainly wouldn't," my father said.

"Why not?"

"Oh, let's not argue," my mother said. "Laurent, we just don't want to see you put yourself in danger, that's all."

Laurent closed his mouth, but I could see the frustration set in his jaw.

Cosima looked like she had something to say, but then thought better of it.

We were silent again. The crickets chirped on, seemingly unaware of the tension in the air.

Ethan shifted in his seat, and his chair creaked, drawing everyone's attention.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

I looked around the table at everyone's downward cast eyes, everyone's pensive hands that played with leftover food or clasped nervously to the stem of a wine glass. The only person who met my gaze was Felix. He winced at me and shrugged his shoulder as if to say, 'I don't know what happened.'

Then he pushed back his chair, quite unexpectedly.

"This was a lovely meal, Madame Cormier!" he said, reaching a hand out toward my mother. "And now, as my repayment, might I ask for your hand in a dance?"

My mother took a deep breath, her eyes moving from my father to Felix.

"A dance?!" she gasped. "Oh, I don't know about that!"

A lively waltz was playing on the radio, full of stand up bass, horns and piano.

"Jacques? What do you think?"

"I don't see why not," my father said.

My mother laughed and stood up, pressing the imagined wrinkles out of the front of her skirt.

"Actually," Cosima said, also standing up. "Don't you think it's getting late, Felix?"

My heart stopped.

"Well, not really," he said, as confused as the rest of us.

"It's only eight o'clock!" I said, unable to keep my voice down.

Cosima glanced at me, and her eyes were apologetic, but only for a moment. She turned back to Felix with resolve.

"I think it's best if we get back to the hotel," she said. "We should notify your father right away."

"Well, when you put it that way," Felix said, but I could tell he didn't really mean it. "And, I guess we do have an early start tomorrow."

 _No!_ I thought. _No! This isn't how it's supposed to happen!_

But even as I screamed my internal protests, Cosima reached for my mother's hands. She clasped them in her own as she said her compliments and salutations. Felix did the same, first shaking my father's hand and then Laurent's. Monsieur Lumiere simply gave them a nod of the head, and Madame Lumiere gave them each two kisses on the cheek.

Cosima walked to me, and quickly leaned in. I wanted to be happy about it, but everything was wrong. She didn't touch my arm, she didn't look in my eyes, she didn't linger in my space. No, she kissed me as fast as she could and turned away, as if the thought of touching me repulsed her.

"Au revoir, Cosima," I said, reaching for her hand.

But I was too slow.

"Au revoir," she said, omitting my name. "See you tomorrow."

Intentional or not, I felt it like a stab in my sternum.

 _No!_ I thought. _No! We are supposed to dance together! We are supposed to! I left the radio on!_

But it was no use. My father ushered them through the house and out to the front road. Felix swung his long leg over the motorcycle, tossing his white scarf around his neck. Cosima curled herself up into the sidecar, pulling her goggles on before I could get a last look at her.

I turned away.

As I walked toward the front door, my mind was in a stupor. But with each step, my teeth clenched tighter, and my fists balled themselves up at my side. With each step, my shock faded into a frustrated sadness.

 _This is not how it was supposed to happen!_ I thought.

I turned around, but the motorcycle was already out of sight. I could only listen to the rumbling engine sounds as it rode away into the night, leaving only a cloud of dust in its wake.


	7. Chapter 7

To say that I cried…

Well, yes, I cried, but only after I climbed the stairs, slowly, deliberately, so that my family suspected nothing; only after I closed the door behind me, hearing the latch click calmly in place; only after I fell face first onto the bed, resisting the urge to look out the window.

Yes, I cried, and in crying, I heard myself. I could not believe the sounds.

 _What has happened?_ I thought. _Where has she gone? Am I a fool? Was it all some cruel trick?_

My mind tossed these questions over and over, the same way my mother would toss old rags in a bucket of dirty water.

 _Something's wrong,_ I thought. _She was worried. She was scared. She must have a reason. She must have a reason! She will explain everything tomorrow._

For a moment, I would be satisfied. I'd take a breath and wipe my nose. I'd relax my face into the pillow, staring blankly at the stitching on my quilt. For a moment, I would believe myself; it was all just a miscommunication.

But then, I'd think of her face - of the shadows of the cherry trees on her face. I'd think of the moment she said, _je veux;_ that uncanny moment when I was sure that I wanted whatever she wanted. It was a synchronicity that I'd never experienced before.

 _Was it all a lie?_ I thought. _Was it all just some cruel trick?_

And there I was, plunged back into the dingy waters of self doubt.

I don't know how long I cried, or what time I fell asleep, but I do know my mother only came once, speaking softly through the door. I told her that I didn't feel well and she left me alone.

I do know that as I started to drift to sleep, I thought of Laurent; of all the times I'd seen him worked up over a boy he'd only just met. I thought of how much I used to pity him.

 _I'm sorry,_ I thought. _I didn't understand._

And when I woke the next morning, I woke up late. My room was bright and hot, and I knew that I must have slept right through breakfast. I almost stood up. I almost walked to the window.

Instead, I rolled over, pulling the blanket up over my head. I didn't want to look out the window. I didn't want to see that field, or anyone who might be in it.

 _I've only just met her,_ I thought. _I don't really know her at all. She means nothing to me. And if she is only a stranger, who means nothing, then why should I care if she is outside my window or not? Why should I care at all?_

And then (only because it was so hot and stuffy under that quilt) I stood up, walked to the window and pulled it open. The air outside was stifling. The day seemed to match my mood. There were no clouds. Instead, the sky was an angry shade of gray, and the air was humid and demanding.

 _Just strangers,_ I reminded myself as I looked down on Lumiere's field. _Why should I care at all?_

I counted five people. My father sat up on the tractor. Laurent, Felix and Cosima stood behind the wings of the plane, pushing with all their strength, their toes digging into the dirt. Monsieur Lumiere stood by with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

I told myself that I didn't notice her first; that her silhouette wasn't instantly distinguishable from the rest. I told myself that her mannerisms were unfamiliar and unappealing - the way she leaned all of her body weight against the plane, the way her knee bent gracefully, even as she struggled and strained, the way she stood up straight, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

I told myself she was just a strange girl, that her _very arrival_ in Rosheim was a mistake in navigation; a mistake that would soon be righted.

But then, I could have sworn I saw her turn toward the house. She was too far away to know for sure, but I thought I saw her scan the drive that led to my front door, as if she were waiting for something. Or, someone.

It was only a moment before she turned back to Felix, but it was enough.

 _She is waiting for me!_ I thought. _She is waiting for me and she will explain everything!_

It was that thought that drove me into the shower, and that thought that later propelled me down the stairs. I went so fast, I nearly rolled my ankle.

By the time I had made myself decent and pushed open the front door, there was not a single person, nor plane, left in the field. I took a step toward the barn.

"There you are!" my mother called from behind me. "Just in time."

"Just in time?"

Reluctantly, I turned around.

"Yes, just in time to help me with lunch," she said from the doorway.

"Oh? Is it lunch time already?" I asked.

I walked back toward the house. There was no way to wiggle out of the job.

"Maybe not for you, but it is for the rest of the world," she said. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes, much better," I said.

"Maybe you had too much wine," my mother said.

"Maybe," I said and I headed straight for the kitchen.

I worked as fast as I could, but there was an entire bucket of dirty potatoes standing between me and my freedom. They needed to be washed, peeled, cut and cooked into a _gratin_.

My mother laid out an enormous pike fish on the table. It was wrapped in newspaper and it smelled like river moss.

"Can you believe it?!" she said. "I got this fresh from the market today. The man said he caught it just this morning! It can't get any fresher than this! Perfect, don't you think? Now I can prepare my famous brochet au four!"

I tried to get as excited as her, but it was hard for me to concentrate. I kept my hands on the potatoes, dunking them in the dirty water and rubbing away the dirt with my thumbs.

 _She was waiting for me,_ I thought. _She is still waiting for me. She will explain everything._

But then darker thoughts would mix in.

 _But what if she was looking for me because she didn't want to see me?_ I thought. _What if she wants to avoid me at all costs?_

The thought made me squirm with embarrassment.

And still my mother chirped on.

"You should have seen it this morning at the market!" she said. "Everyone was asking me so many questions! 'What is that thing? Is it a real plane? Whose plane is it? How did it get there?' No one believed me when I said that it was a British boy's plane and that his American girlfriend had crashed it into Lumiere's field! Everyone nearly died of shock! They couldn't believe it!"

I looked up then.

"She's not his girlfriend," I said.

My mother shrugged her shoulders.

"We don't know that," she said.

"Yes, we do," I said. "She would have told me. Besides, he's like her brother. It would be gross!"

"Well, you know what they say, 'Two hearts in love need no words.'"

"Mother, they are not in love. Please stop!"

I hadn't meant to shout.

My mother looked up. She looked at the knife clenched in one hand and the potato clenched in the other hand. She looked at the way I stood, with both fists on the table.

"Alright," she said with another shrug of her shoulders. "If it bothers you."

We carried on in silence. I hacked at the potatoes haphazardly, until finally I cut right through the tip of my finger. A gush of blood rushed out of the tip. It happened so fast, I lost track of where the missing skin had gone. It was probably already shaved away into the bucket.

I screamed.

My mother screamed, too. She ran to me, grabbing my hand and squeezing my finger in a death grip. She led me to the kitchen sink, where the blood dripped down the drain. She grabbed a cloth and pushed down on the bloody tip, and instantly the cloth was soaked through with red.

"You must squeeze here," she said, pushing down.

I screamed again, louder.

"You must squeeze it to stop the bleeding," she said.

It hurt. Every time she pushed, it hurt. I screamed and clenched my teeth, but I did not cry.

"You silly girl," my mother said, pushing the hair back from my forehead. "All of this over some boy? You're getting just as bad as Laurent."

"What?"

"That's what this is about, right? Last night? And this morning? And now being so distracted that you nearly cut off your finger?"

"That's not what this is about."

I knudged her away from me, taking the cloth into my own hand and applying pressure. I leaned over the sink, resting my elbows on the cool porcelain edge.

"No?" she said, glancing into the bucket of cut potatoes.

"No."

She walked away.

"I'm just tired, that's all," I said.

"Well, I guess I can finish up the gratin," she said. "Why don't you take care of that finger? We don't want you to bleed all over our guests."

"Merde," I whispered to myself.

I made my way to the bathroom.

I pulled the bloody cloth away, and for a moment, my finger stood bare and raw. The pink flesh was still, and I thought the bleeding had stopped. But then, the blood rose up and brimmed over the tip, running down the side of my finger. I replaced the cloth and squeezed until my eyes went black.

"Merde!" I shouted.

I kicked the wall.

"Merde!" I shouted again.

I stood facing the mirror, huffing and puffing.

There was a knock at the bathroom door. I didn't move.

"Qu'est-ce?" I said.

"Delphine?"

It was Cosima. I stood upright with my back to the door.

"Merde!" I whispered to my reflection.

I was a mess. There was blood all over my hand, and drops of blood on my dress, and even a streak of blood on my cheek. I tried my best to wipe it off onto my shoulder.

"Delphine? Are you okay?"

"Yes," I said through the door. "Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"No, you're mom said you were having an emergency."

"Oh, no, I'm fine," I said.

"Are you sure? I'm trained in first aid."

Her face was close to the door. I know because my face was close the door, and my ear was nearly pressed against it. Her voice came gently, softly, through the crack. She was so close I could hear every aspirated "s."

"Of course you are," I said softly.

"What?"

I pulled open the door.

"Of course you're trained in first aid," I repeated.

"One of my many talents," she said with a smile.

But when she looked down, her smiled faded. She reached for my hand right away, grabbing it by the wrist and lifting it up.

"Well, first of all, you've got to keep it elevated, preferably above the heart," she said.

She pulled it right up to her face to get a better look.

"May I?" she said, reaching for the bloody cloth.

"Yes," I said.

She pulled the cloth away, just for a moment, but it was long enough for one drop of blood to trail down my palm.

"Oops, sorry," she said, replacing the cloth.

"It's okay," I said.

"Well, first, you've got to stop the bleeding."

"I'm trying," I said.

"You've been pushing it here, but that's not good enough. You've to apply direct pressure...here."

She pushed down directly on top of the open wound, so that there was nothing between her thumb and my raw flesh, nothing except a thin layer of cloth.

"Merde!" I cried out.

"I'm sorry!" she said, half-laughing and half-wincing. "It's the only way!"

I squirmed beneath her, then leaned back against the wall. She held my finger like that, firmly, for several protracted minutes.

I couldn't look at her. I looked at the floor. I looked at her dusty boots. I looked at the seam of her trousers, now more convinced that they were handmade. I let my eyes wander as high as her leather belt. I looked at the way it hugged her hips.

It was suddenly very stuffy in that bathroom. I took a deep breath.

 _This is ridiculous!_ I thought. _I can't just ignore her. She's holding my finger!_

I mustered my courage. I looked up. Our eyes met.

"What do we do when it stops bleeding?" I asked.

"Well," she said, looking at my finger, instead of into my eyes. " _If_ it ever stops bleeding, then we should clean the wound, then cover it with a sterile bandage or cloth. Do you have any rubbing alcohol?"

"Yes, I think so," I said.

We were quiet again. She sighed and her breath landed hot on my wrist. The hairs there stood up.

"Looks like you hurt yourself pretty bad," she said.

"Yeah," I said, laughing. "I'm a fool."

"No, no," she said. "It happens to all of us."

We were quiet again, so quiet that I could swear I heard her swallow.

"Um," she started to say, looking down. "Uh, I think maybe…"

She looked into my eyes, and this time I was certain she swallowed, because I saw it. I saw her jaw set. I saw her Adam's apple drop. I heard her exhale through her nose.

"I think maybe I hurt you, too," she said.

The pain in my finger gave way to the pain in my chest. She was applying direct pressure to a completely different wound. I let out a laugh instead of a scream.

"I…" I started to say, but I knew it would be stupid to lie.

So I said nothing. I looked away.

"I thought so," she said.

Slowly, she started to pull the cloth away from my hand.

"But I hope," she said, as she peaked at the wound. "I hope that…"

She pulled the cloth away completely. We both peered at the raw pink skin. The wound was surrounded by dried blood that was so dark it was almost black.

"...you will give me a chance to explain."

The wound still hurt but it had stopped bleeding.

"Bien," I said softly.

"Bien," she said with a smile.


	8. Chapter 8

After lunch, Cosima and I snuck out the back door. With my finger wrapped in a fresh bandage and throbbing in pain, it was easy to get out of the dish washing. I patted Laurent on the shoulder before we left.

"Have fun," he whispered.

Cosima and Felix followed me out onto the road, but Felix left us at the barn.

"Are you sure you don't want my help?" Cosima asked.

"No, thank you," he said. "The last thing I need is you messing things about. Just let the artist work."

He turned on his heel as if he were wearing an elegant gown.

Soon, we were standing alone. My finger throbbed.

"Well, where should we go?" I said. "Back to the cherry trees?"

"No," she said. "Let's stay here on the road, out in the open. Make sure no one's listening."

"Oh," I said, confused and more than a little disappointed.

_Who would be listening?_

I looked around. There was no one but us and the gray sky.

"Let's just walk a little further from the house."

"D'accord," I said.

We walked in silence. I didn't know what to say, and I could tell she was holding her tongue, or rather, holding her breath, choosing her words carefully.

 _What can she possibly say?_ I thought. _Will she apologize? Will she say I misunderstood everything? Will she take back the things she said yesterday? Will she take back her smiles and her laughs and her kiss?_

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She walked with her head down. She walked with a light step and furrowed brows. Her mouth was twisted to the side, like she had something difficult to say.

 _Everything was fine,_ I thought. _Everything was fine until dinner. Then something went wrong. Was it the news about the plane? Was it Madame Lumiere and her gloomy talk of Germany? Was it Ethan? Insulting London?_

"Look," I said. "I'm sorry about yesterday at dinner. My neighbors can be...tactless."

"No," she said. "No, no, it's fine. Everyone was charming."

"And about the barn, you don't have to worry about paying my father. I'm sure he doesn't care about the money. He's not greedy like Lumiere."

"Trust me, I want to pay him," she said. "It's nothing, really."

"Oh," I said. "And I'm sorry about Ethan, he says strange things all the time. I'm sure he didn't mean to insult anyone, I'm sure London doesn't really smell like urine."

"Delphine, you don't have to apologize. I'm the one who has to apologize."

We stopped walking. She reached for my hand. She ran her thumb over the back of my hand just like she had done at Le Petit Chiot. She looked up the road toward Lumiere's house and then back toward my house.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Apologize for what?"

"For last night, when I left so abruptly..." she started. "I didn't mean to...It wasn't my intention…"

She paused and took a deep breath.

"Can we keep walking?" she said.

"Bien," I said.

We walked in silence, still holding hands. I wouldn't have let her go, even if she had wanted to.

"Cosima," I said. "It's okay. You were in a hurry to get back to the hotel. I understand. It was a very long day."

"That's just it," she said. "I wish I could have stayed."

"Really?"

"Yes. I wish I could stay a long time here...in Rosheim. What I said last night was true."

She looked at me. I remembered the words she had said. I remembered the shape of her mouth, and how her lips were red from wine, and the way her tongue flicked against her top teeth.

 _Lovely,_ she had said.

I remembered thinking, no hoping, she wasn't just talking about the town.

"I thought you were exaggerating to impress my parents. Rosheim is just like every other town. Isn't that why you got lost in the first place?"

"No," she said. "I'm not exaggerating. Not even a little bit."

"Oh."

"I've traveled around a lot, you know. And I've seen a lot of places, and I've met a lot of people."

"I'm sure you have," I said.

 _Oh, god!_ I thought. _That's it!_ _There's someone else. Another girl. Maybe there are lots of other girls. I'm just one of many!_

The thought was almost unbearable. The throbbing was back; the throbbing in my chest.

"And I just wish…" she said.

She stopped again.

"I just wish I could spend more time here."

She looked toward the house again. With one eye scrunched up into a squint, she tilted her head away from the sun.

"But you can't?"

"I don't want to scare you, Delphine," she said.

She looked me right in the eye.

"Scare me?"

"What I'm going to tell you, you can't tell anyone. Not even Felix," she said.

"Okay, I promise."

My ears were hot and ringing.

 _What can she possibly have to say?_ I thought.

"Remember, I told you my father works for the British government?"

"Yes. He's a cartographer."

"Yeah, well. He's not exactly a cartographer. I mean, he is, but that's not all."

"Okay…"

"And, remember, I told you we went to Belgium and Germany because my father was making maps?"

"Yes."

"Well, that was true, mostly. But the part I didn't tell you was…"

She paused.

"Just tell me."

She took a deep breath.

"I didn't tell you that my father, and Felix's father...they're intelligence officers for the British government and they have been tracking the development and movements of the Wehrmacht for the past two years."

_Wehrmacht._

I knew the word, only peripherally, having overheard it many times on the nightly news program. The broadcaster had always said it with a harsh german accent, over-pronouncing it, trying to make it sound more insidious and foreboding. I had always laughed at his sense of drama.

But when Cosima said it, my stomach dropped. For the first time, I felt anxious.

"The Wehrmacht?" I said. "As in the _Wehrmacht_ -Wehrmacht? As in the german army?"

"Actually, the entire defense force, but yes, the one and only."

She was trying to make light of the situation, but I could still sense fear in the way she blinked her eyes and in the way she bit the inside of her cheek.

"Okay."

I had to admit it was hard to process what she was telling me.

"Felix doesn't know," she said. "The less he knows, the better."

"And how do you know?"

"I figured it out on my own. I mean, the maps my dad is making are pretty clear. It doesn't take a genius."

"I see," I said, raising my bandaged hand to my chest. "And why are you telling me?"

"I'm telling you because, I think I may have inadvertently put your family in danger."

"In danger?"

I felt suddenly as though I could hear the ocean. I felt that rush of wind and water sound, like someone was holding a seashell to my ear.

"Yes, but you can't tell them anything. The less they know, the better."

"You keep saying that, but what is so dangerous? Can you be more specific?"

"I'm trying," she said. "But I don't want to tell you too much, either, for your own safety. God, I've already made a huge mess of things! I've already broken countless rules of spycraft."

She turned away from me, letting my hand drop.

"Cosima, just tell me! You're not really making any sense."

I realized that wasn't the sound of the ocean at all, but the sound of my own blood.

"Alright. Let me start from the beginning."

"Please."

I was very hot, suddenly. And frustrated. I didn't really understand what she was talking about, and I didn't like the way I felt, like the ground was giving way. It was too disorienting. I looked at her face, which I had so naively and hastily accepted into my affections. I looked at her face and realized that I didn't know her at all.

"Two days ago," she said quickly, glancing up and down the road, "I was supposed to deliver a package, an extremely confidential package, to Colmar."

"To Colmar? But there's nothing in Colmar."

"Maybe not, but that's where my father's contact is. That's where I was supposed to meet him. But then, I got confused by all the vineyards, and it should have been Felix, not me! Felix is the pilot, not me! But we swore not to involve Felix, so I had to do it myself. Anyway, I crashed the plane in Lumiere's field. That's where we met."

"I see," I said.

Involuntarily, the memory came up; the image of her stepping her foot on the wing of the plane, just before jumping to the ground.

"But why didn't your father deliver it himself?" I asked.

"He was delivering a different package, but the less you know about that the better."

"Uh-huh."

Another thought came up; the image of her wiping her dusty face with that red handkerchief.

"So I missed my drop, but I thought it would be okay, if we could just fix the plane up and get back to Colmar and deliver the package, but now we're stuck here for two weeks!"

 _She never had any intention of staying,_ I thought. _Not even then. Not even that first day. I'm a fool._

"Two weeks isn't so long," I said. "I've sent packages that take months to deliver."

She looked at me and laughed. I didn't like the feeling, like I was being condescended to.

"That's not the kind of package I'm talking about," she said. "Besides, something big is coming. The Nazis are ready for war. They're gathering on the border of Poland as we speak. We might not have two weeks to wait."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I told you, spy kid," she said, pointing to herself.

I didn't like all this talk of spies. It was confusing. And I didn't like her tone. I didn't like the heaviness of her mouth, even though she tried to smile.

"Well, people have been saying that the germans will start a war for years. It doesn't mean anything. It's just what they say."

"No, not this time. My father says any day now, and that's why I've got to deliver this package. I've got to deliver it and we all have to leave. It's not safe for us here."

"Here? In France? I thought you said they're gathering on the Polish border."

"Yes, but with Strasbourg so close to the border, this entire region is unsafe."

"Then why don't you just deliver the package and leave? Why wait at all?"

 _Tell me you want to stay again,_ I thought. _Tell me again that you wish you could stay a long time!_

"It's hidden in the plane. And I don't know how to move it without Felix noticing. I thought I'd just wait until he finished the repairs, but now I'm not sure when that will be."

That was not the answer I wanted to hear, though it was obviously the truth.

"So," I said. "Last night at dinner, you got upset because...you realized you had to stay in Rosheim longer than you originally anticipated?"

"No, I was upset because I realized I've put you and your family in danger."

"But before that, earlier in the day, you thought you'd only be here for a few days?"

"Yes," she said.

"Oh," I said.

Again, I thought of her face, of the sun reflecting off of her glasses. I thought of the way she leaned up and closed her eyes.

"But that doesn't change anything," she said, reaching for my hand again.

"What do you mean?" I said, crossing my arms before she could touch me.

"I mean, even though I thought I would have to leave soon, I still…" she stuttered.

She twisted her mouth to the side again. She shoved her hands into her pockets.

"I mean, it doesn't change anything about the kiss, or the fact that I hope I can still get one more dance."

"Oh," was all I managed to say.

I turned away from her. I looked back at my house. It looked very quiet; far away and delicate. The crumbling stone wall looked suddenly fragile, so fragile that even a gust of strong wind might be able to blow it down. I imagined my parents and Laurent standing inside the structure with one wall cut away, the whole house exposed like a doll's house.

 _Are they in danger?_ I thought. _Are we in danger?_

I'd never felt this before, this distant sense of danger. In my short life danger had always been something bright and hot like fire, or something sweeping like a strong current. Danger was not a thought, not a warning from a stranger.

I thought of the way my father would sit so still in his armchair as he listened to the evening news. I thought about the way he would scowl, and his eyes would glaze over, even as he stared at the wall, as if he were lost in a bad daydream.

"I mean," she said, "yesterday, with you, under the cherry tree…"

I turned back to her.

"...I wished I could stay here, a long time."

"You don't have to say it," I said.

"I mean it," she said.

"Anyway, you're leaving. Whether it's tomorrow or in two weeks, you're still leaving. And when you're gone, we'll still be here."

"Do you think you can convince your family to leave? Just for a little while?"

"Are you kidding? And what would I say? The American says we are in danger? Her father is a spy for the British government?"

She sighed.

"We have to stay," I said. "This is our home. Where would we go?"

"If you came to London, you could stay with us! We have a big enough place!"

I laughed.

"Do you hear yourself?!" I said.

For the second time that day, I found myself shouting.

"Look, maybe this is all just some game for you," I shouted. "I'm sure its very exciting to travel all over the world and fly airplanes and deliver mysterious packages and seduce strangers, but this is my life, my real life. I can't just leave. My family can't just leave! Once you're gone, everything will go back to normal...this town, my family, me...it will all go back to normal."

My finger throbbed. I lifted my hand up. The bandage was soaked through with blood. I grunted in frustration.

"Right," she said, nodding her head. "It was a stupid idea. I'm sorry."

We stood in the road, not facing eachother, but not completely turned away, either.

I was angry and the sun was hot. I couldn't sort out my emotions, especially with her standing beside me.

"Anyway, I won't tell anyone," I said.

"Thank you."

I turned and walked toward the house. I didn't look back, but I knew that she wasn't following. I knew that she was standing in the dusty road behind me, looking at my back as I walked away. I can't say for sure that her chest was throbbing, or that she was having trouble breathing, or that her throat was tight, but I sure hoped so.

I hoped she felt exactly as I had felt the night before; confused, sad and frustrated.

But I also listened carefully, with one ear turned back, because underneath the gray sky of my anger, I sincerely hoped that she would chase me. I sincerely hoped she would stop me, try to explain more, say something to make me feel better, even if that something was a lie.


	9. Chapter 9

She didn't chase me.

I listened for her footsteps, but I heard nothing. It was only after I had entered the house, only when I was closing the front door, that I allowed myself to look for her silhouette.

I assumed she'd still be there, standing out in the sun-baked road, but I was wrong.

 _Where did she go?_ I thought. _No! Nevermind. I don't care!_

I closed the door.

No, she didn't chase me.

In fact, I didn't see her for the rest of the day.

I didn't see her, but I heard her voice sometime in the late afternoon. The pilots didn't stay for dinner, you see, despite my mother's strong invitations. I cracked open my bedroom door and listened.

I heard my mother fussing over them, and I heard Felix say that there wasn't much else he could do, that he had to wait for the new parts to arrive before he could make any repairs. I heard him lavish his compliments on our home and on my mother's cooking. I heard my mother nearly squeal with delight.

I heard Cosima's voice, reserved and polite. She spoke plainly of money issues.

I heard my father brush the topic aside and then say his farewells. And I heard Laurent follow them out the front door, asking so many questions that Felix could barely keep up. _How long until the parts arrive? And, once he had the parts, how long would the repairs take? When would they come back to Rosheim?_

Without realizing it, I had stepped out onto the landing. I had leaned far over the banister, trying to hear the answers, but then the door closed behind them and the house was still. I stood in the dim light of the hallway, not wanting to return to my bedroom, because I knew that I would not be able to stop myself from pressing my face up against the window, or worse, from leaning out.

 _Better to forget her,_ I thought. _She will forget me soon enough._

I heard the motorcycle growl to life and in a few minutes, I knew she was gone.

That night after dinner, my father turned on the radio as he always did. He sat down in his armchair and listened with his index finger resting on his chin. Usually, I would be in the kitchen, helping clean up. Usually, I would pay no attention to the seemingly endless drone of the newscaster. But that night, I followed my father into the sitting room and sat down.

If he thought it was strange that I joined him, he didn't let on. He was too focused to notice me. I flipped through the pages of a book, pretending to be interested.

The anchorman spoke of the weather, then of the local price of flour and eggs, and then of the rising cost of gasoline.

" _And now, in international news,"_ the anchorman said.

I noticed the subtle shift in his voice toward the somber.

" _The Nazi government continues to ensure international authorities that its recent Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact with The Soviet Union is a nonaggressive agreement between the two countries, and that it signifies in no way, the intention or commitment of either party toward a military alliance."_

I found myself sitting very still, my finger still grasping the corner edge of the book page.

" _In response to news of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, British Prime Minister Chamberlain has reiterated his pledge to defend Poland, if indeed, it were attacked."_

My stomach leaped to my throat.

What had always been the semi-incoherent ramblings of the radio, suddenly became all too clear. It was just like Cosima had said.

" _President Lebrun has stated that he is interested only in maintaining peace and order and that the French government will not be pursuing an active foreign policy at this time."_

" _And on The Soviet Union's eastern border, conflicts with the Japanese continue…"_ the newscaster went on.

My father grunted and shook his head. He reached up and turned the volume down.

"Father," I said.

"Yes?"

"Do you think Hitler will do it? Do you think he will really invade Poland?"

My father took a deep breath.

"I certainly hope not," he said. "But it's not sounding so good, is it?"

"No, not really."

"Don't worry about it too much. Why the sudden interest in politics, anyway?"

"Oh, just something I've been thinking about. I just wonder, if the Nazis attack Poland, what's to stop them from attacking France?"

"I doubt they would do that."

"Why not?"

"Then they'd have a war on both fronts. The Nazis are fascist, racist, elitist... but they're not stupid. Besides, the French military is the strongest in the world. They'll think twice before attacking us."

"But we're so close to the border. Don't you think that puts us all at risk?"

"You might think that, and maybe Strasbourg would have to be evacuated, but it would only be precautionary, I think. We've got the Maginot Line, after all. Alsace is one of the best protected regions in France!"

"I see," I said.

But to be honest, I didn't feel any better. I didn't even know what the Maginot Line was, despite my father's confidence that it would hold.

"What about Rosheim?" I asked.

"What about it?"

"Will we have to evacuate, too?"

He watched my face as I spoke. He looked at me like he had when I was younger, with patience and love, and even a little condescension; in other words, like a father.

"Did I ever tell you what my father told me? About disasters?"

"I'm not sure," I said.

"Well, he said that when a man is confronted with the rising waters of life, he has a choice; he can be hard like a rock, or he can be light like a leaf."

"I don't understand."

"A rock stands its ground; it may be changed by the river, but when the water subsides, the rock remains."

"And the leaf?"

"A leaf floats; it follows the water's current... wherever it may lead."

"Which one was he?"

"My father?"

"Yeah."

"He was a rock if I ever saw one."

"And us? Our family?"

"I can only speak for myself," he said, "But I guess I'm more of a rock. I don't think I could ever be a leaf; I wouldn't even know how to start."

"Why not?"

"Because when the water subsides, where is the leaf? Certainly not where it started. Certainly not back at its home."

I nodded my head and looked away. There was a hint of fear in my father's voice, something I wasn't used to hearing.

"Which one is better? I mean… which one do you think is better?"

"Oh, I'm not sure," my father said, looking down at his hands. "They're both brave... in their own way. Don't you think?"

"Oui," I said softly.

We were both quiet for a moment.

Then he stood up, patted me on the shoulder and turned off the radio.

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that," he said before leaving the room.

I stayed in the sitting room for a while longer, perhaps it was the longest I had simply sat in the sitting room in years. I glanced around the room, at the dark oak bookshelf. It was a family heirloom, one that had been overrun with books since I was a child.

I then looked at the rickety birch bookshelf next to it. I remembered helping my father build it. I remembered the weight of the hammer in my hand. I remembered my pride at its completion, feeling as though I had helped build something indestructible.

But sitting in that chair, with Cosima's ominous and vague warnings still ringing in my ears, the birch bookshelf seemed almost laughably frail. It leaned heavily to one side, and the shelves sagged beneath the weight of the books.

 _Maybe Strasbourg would have to be evacuated,_ my father had said. _But it would only be precautionary._

I stood up and walked to the bookshelf. I read the titles of some of the books there. On the middle shelf were my mother's books: mostly Bibles, cook books and novels. And on the top shelf were my father's books; technical manuals, almanacs, encyclopedias of French grape varieties, books about winemaking and books about farming.

On the lowest shelf were children's books, the ones that Laurent and I hadn't read in years. Their spines were covered in dust, but when I pulled one out - a book of fairy tales - and opened it, the musty smell of the faded pages took me right back to my childhood; took me back to those nights when Laurent and I would curl up on my father's knees and he would read to us, his hair still dusty from the day's work.

 _How can we leave?_ I thought. _How can we take all of this with us?_

I didn't like the thought at all. I closed the book, and a puff of dust shot into the air.

 _She's wrong,_ I thought. _The French army is the strongest army in the world. We will be fine._

But even the voice in my head wasn't convinced.

I slipped the book back onto the shelf and went upstairs to my room.

I walked to the window. I looked out toward the barn, which was only a dark shadow in the distance. I thought first about the plane that I knew must be inside the barn. And then, thought about the confidential package that was hidden inside the plane.

 _What could be so dangerous about a package?_ I thought.

The question nagged at me well into the late evening.

Even as I got ready for bed, even as I washed my face, even as I pulled on my nightgown and pulled back the covers, the question nagged at me.

I closed my eyes. I thought of other things, but other things had a way of circling back, twisting around, bringing me back once more to that plane, and its mysterious contents.

I sat up.

 _If my family is really in danger,_ _then I must find out why._

I got out of bed.

It was no easy task getting downstairs silently in the dark. But once I was at the front door, I found the barn key and the gas lantern where my father always left them.

Once outside, I hurried across the grass under the light of the half moon. I didn't dare turn on the lantern until I had closed the heavy barn door behind me. I stood, with my back against the door. I raised the lantern and turned the dial; turning slowly, slowly, until a small flame danced to life.

The plane loomed large in front of me, its size exaggerated by the stark shadows cast onto the high ceilings. As I stepped around the front of it, the shadows crawled across the ceiling, giving the impression that the plane itself was moving, tracking me as carefully as I was tracking it. I reached a hand out and touched the nose, just to be sure.

I stood still, and the plane stood still, and the entire barn stood still, save for the scurrying of a rodent somewhere in the rafters; save for the symphony of crickets outside. I shivered.

 _Best to get this over with and get out of here,_ I thought.

I grabbed hold of the edge of the open cockpit and pulled myself awkwardly up onto the wing. Once standing, I swung my arm out, arching the lantern over the cockpit, revealing two pilot's seats; at least, I think they were both pilot's seats because they both had a steering wheel of sorts and lots of gauges and dials that I didn't understand.

The cockpit was cramped, even more cramped than I had imagined. If Cosima hadn't told me herself that something was hidden inside the plane, I wouldn't have thought it was possible. Every centimeter of space was filled, save for the small nooks meant for the pilots' feet and legs.

 _But she said it was here,_ I thought. _So it must be here._

I leaned over the front chair, bringing the lantern down. I looked on the ground, running my hand along the floor, coming up with nothing but a layer of dirt on my fingertips. But I did notice that the chair, which was made of leather and wood, was little more than a cushion set on a metal box. I knocked on the metal beneath it and heard that it was hollow.

After some fidgeting, I managed to lift the cushion up, revealing a compartment. It was filled with maps, documents, more gauges, a set of goggles, and a pair of gloves.

None of it looked particularly dangerous.

The back seat was harder to get to. I climbed into the front seat and leaned over the back of the chair, the space so narrow that I felt a bit like a canned sardine trying to peer into an adjacent can of sardines.

I tried my best to lift up the bottom seat cushion, but it wouldn't budge. I could see the same metal box beneath it, and I was sure the same compartment was there, but the cushion wouldn't budge, as if it had been bolted in place.

I climbed over the front seat. I grabbed at the back seat cushion with both hands, but it was no use. When that didn't work, I grabbed at the seatback, which also appeared to be a rudimentary cushion set into the back wall of the cockpit. I yanked as hard as I could, expecting it to be equally, if not more firmly rooted to the plane.

I was wrong.

The backrest gave way almost immediately, and I lost my balance, nearly falling backwards over cockpit wall.

The lantern banged against the wall, and for an instant, the flame burned at its brightest.

I stood up straight with the cushion in my hands. It had come loose from the back of the cockpit wall, popping out at the slightest tug, just like pulling an old cork from a half-drunk bottle of wine.

I set the cushion down and turned the dial on the lantern, reducing the flame, but not too much, because there, where the seatback cushion should have been was a hidden compartment.

I leaned in for a better look.

The compartment was really just a wooden box, set on it's side. It looked as though it had been haphazardly hand-crafted and set into the body of the plane. Wedged inside the compartment was a tan suitcase of sorts.

 _So this is what she didn't want Felix to find,_ I thought.

I pulled the suitcase out, and I was surprised to see that it was made of wood.

It wasn't big, but it wasn't small. I opened the top to reveal a strange machine inside; or rather, the suitcase itself was the machine, a typewriter-like contraption that took up the entire interior of the case.

There was a set of black push-button keys, just like a typewriter. And above the keys there was another set of letters, but they weren't buttons; they were flush with the surface of the keyboard. And above that set of letters there were three gears that were inset into the surface of the machine. Just beneath the entire keyboard was a tangle of thick, black wires, like the ones you see in the advertisements for the phone company.

I'd never seen a typewriter like that before.

I pushed on one of the keys. It gave way beneath my finger in a pleasant sort of way and made a cheerful _click!_.

Posted on the inside of the lid was a paper covered in German instructions.

I brought the lantern closer as I read the bolded heading.

_Zur beachtung!_

"Please note!" I whispered to myself.

I read the next line.

_Beachte die Gebrauchsanleitung fur die Chiffriermaschine._

"Please note the instructions for the use of the...Chiffriermaschine?" I said. "What is a Chiffriermaschine?"

I repeated the word out loud.

"Chiffriermaschine…"

I said it fast. Then I said it slow. I said it as one word and then I broke it up into two words. I said it with my best German accent, and then with no accent. And then I said it the way I imagined Cosime might say it.

"Chiffrier…maschine...chiffrier...chifer...cifer...ci…"

And then, all at once, I knew what it was and I knew why it was so dangerous.

I stood back, yanking my hands away. The lid slammed shut.

"The Cipher Machine," I said.

 _Die Wehrmacht Chiffriermaschine!_ I thought. _Of course! It's so simple!_

I felt a knot in my stomach and I couldn't tell if it was from excitement or from fear.

I lifted the lid.

I tried to read the rest of the instructions, but there were too many technical terms that I didn't quite understand.

Just then, I heard footsteps in the gravel outside the barn door.

I slammed the lid shut, tucked the wooden case back into the secret compartment, and fitted the seatback cushion into place, just as the barn door squeaked open.

"Delphine? Is that you?" whispered Laurent.

"Yes," I whispered back.

He stepped into the dimly lit barn. He smiled when he saw me standing in the cockpit.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked, trying to hide the catch in my breath.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. He stuck a cigarette into his mouth and lit up. He took a long drag and then, with a mischief that I recognized immediately - a mischief that meant I wouldn't get out of this situation easily - he smiled.

"I could ask you the same thing."


	10. Chapter 10

I stared down at him. The lantern cast severe shadows on his face, and his smirk appeared almost sinister. I rubbed my fingertips together. They were still gritty with dirt from the plane floor. My other hand pulsed beneath the pressure of the bandage.

"I was…"

He exhaled, turning his head to the side, but keeping one eye on me.

I rubbed my fingertips back and forth, trying to think fast. I rubbed them so frantically that a ball of oily debris formed between my thumb and forefinger.

 _God, what was on that floor?_ I thought.

"I was...checking for crumbs," I said.

"For crumbs?"

"Yeah, you know, because of the rats."

"The rats?"

"Yeah, because if there are any crumbs in the plane, then, you know, the rats will move right in, and the next thing you know, rat honeymoon, and then two dozen little rat babies running amuck in the engine...or propellor...or the seat cushions."

 _Shut up!_ I screamed inside my own mind.

"Or maybe not the seat cushions," I said.

_God! Just shut up!_

"Rat honeymoon, huh?" he said.

"Yeah," I continued, "Felix said the plane was made of wood and canvas; those are two things that rats like."

"They sure are."

He took another long drag of the cigarette. I stood in the cockpit, not quite sure how to segue myself out of the conversation.

"You _do_ realize how ridiculous you sound, right?" he said.

I sighed and lowered the lantern.

"Oh, shut up and help me get down," I said.

With the cigarette snug between his lips, he stepped toward the plane and reached out a hand, grabbing me by the elbow and guiding me down.

"What are you really doing out here?" he mumbled around the cigarette.

"I already told you," I said, straightening my skirt.

"You expect me to believe the rat thing?"

"And why not? The last thing we need is a rodent infestation. I mean, the sooner this plane is fixed and out of here, the better... _for all of us_."

I mumbled that last part under my breath, and even if he had heard me, I don't think he'd have fully understood.

"Uh-oh!" he said. "Trouble in paradise?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

But it was too late; I had already blushed, already turned a shoulder away from him.

"Oh, no?"

"No."

"So you aren't out here in the middle of the night because you want to leave a little love note for a special _mademoiselle_ to find?"

"A love note?!"

I tried to laugh it off, as if it were a crazy idea, but the laugh came out more bitter than bamboozled.

"Don't be stupid!" I said with my back to him.

"Wait a minute," he said, his tone suddenly sincere. "I was just joking."

He reached for my elbow again. I shrugged him off.

"I don't care about your stupid jokes. I'm going inside."

I headed for the barn door, taking the lantern with me.

"Delphine, wait. What's wrong?" he said, following right behind me, tugging gently on my shirt sleeve.

"Nothing," I said. "There's no love note. There was never a love note, okay? Let's just drop it."

"I thought things were going so well! What happened?"

I stood just inside the barn door, speaking to the darkness.

"Laurent, are you asking me what I think you're asking me?"

He didn't answer.

"Are we really talking about this? Right now?"

Still he was quiet.

I wasn't surprised at his silence. Despite all of our trips to Le Chiot, despite all of his intense friendships with men, despite all of my willingness to tag along, love was a topic we had never discussed, not in any serious way.

The crickets chirped outside, as if to say, "We know. We know. We know."

He stubbed out the cigarette with the toe of his boot.

"Sure," he said. "Why not? It's as good a time as any."

"Okay," I said. "You start."

"Look," he said. "I know you like her...Cosima."

 _That's not what I meant,_ I thought. _I meant talk about you!_

"I like a lot of people," I said.

"I know she kissed you, and I know you're mad, and I know that's why you nearly cut off your finger this morning."

Before he could even finish his sentence, I spun around and grabbed him by the shirt.

"Who told you that!?" I shouted.

He laughed, which only enraged me further. I threw my body weight at him, shoving against him with both hands, even though it was more painful for me than it was for him.

"Relax!" he said.

He reached for my hand.

"This is a new shirt! You're going to ruin it!"

"Then tell me who told you!"

"Felix, of course!" he said, prying at my fingers.

"How does he know? God! Were you guys spying on us?"

"No," he said, and the smirk was gone from his face. "Cosima told him, and he told me, that's all!"

I glared into his face, twisting his shirt until the fabric was tight around his chest. He winced, not in physical pain, but in psychic pain.

"You're going to tear it!" he squealed.

Finally, I let him go. He looked down at his shirt, rubbing vigorously at the wrinkled fabric.

 _She told him,_ I thought. _She told Felix everything. And now Laurent knows everything._

"Look," he said. "It's no big deal. A little lover's quarrel. So what? I just thought you guys had made up, that's all."

I felt exposed in that surreal kind of way, like standing naked in front of the entire classroom, like I did sometimes in my dreams. I was embarrassed despite Laurent's nonchalant attitude.

Goosebumps rose on the back of my arms, my elbows, and the back of my hands.

_I'm going to kill her!_

"Don't tell mom and dad," I said suddenly.

"Of course not! Do you think I'm crazy?!"

Then he looked at me sideways.

"Wait a minute. Have you?" he asked. "Told mom and dad about me?"

"Non."

The barn was silent again, save for a rodent scurrying in the rafters. Laurent glanced up and let out a laugh. I think he meant it as a truce.

"Guess you were right about the rats," he said.

"Did Felix tell you anything else?"

"Non."

I couldn't decide I if liked that answer or hated it. Either way, my stomach was tight and my jaw was clenched, and I was ready to give him another good shove.

Instead, I turned around and pulled open the barn door.

Laurent spoke up.

"He did say... just that...Cosima hasn't shut up about you since the moment she crashed that plane into Lumiere's field."

I stopped. I didn't look at him but I listened.

"And?"

"And, well, he's sick of hearing about you, if that's what you want to know. And, I don't know, I think she really likes you..."

He took a breath.

"Don't you like her?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Je ne sais pas," I said and I was out the door, leaving him alone in the dark.

I was already halfway to the house when I remembered the Cipher Machine hidden in the plane. But I was already gone too long, and if I returned to the barn to check on him, he'd know something was up. I had to just keep walking and hope for the best.

But it was one more sleepless night for me; the worst night of my short life. My mind moved at jagged angles.

_I'm going to kill her! No, I'm going to talk to her! No, I'm going to ignore her! No, I'm going to tell her to get that machine and that plane away from my family!_

Then, according to their own twisted geometry, the thoughts folded back on themselves.

_I'm going to ignore her! And Laurent! But Laurent is my family... And my family is in danger... And Cosima is in danger! Oh, god!_

And my emotions exploded in sudden, unpredictable bursts; sometimes raging at her betrayal, sometimes grieving at my loss, sometimes fearing, sometimes plotting, sometimes laughing at the memory of the day we met, the way she tried to clean off my dress, the way she brushed my arms and chest and stomach with her gloved hands — and then came the yearning.

Oh! The yearning! Inevitably, it would come, and my entire body would burn.

_I'd kill for her to touch me again… to kiss me again._

These thoughts were my final destination, the one that I arrived at over and over again, until finally, I let the other emotions fall away and let the exhaustion put me to sleep.

But rather than sleep all the next day, I woke with the sun, the same questions still running through my mind. I went about my day in a daze, not paying attention to much because what was there to pay attention to?

Monsieur Lumiere came by the house just after lunch, asking if the American had returned yet with his money.

"We aren't expecting them today," my mother said.

Monsieur Lumiere looked at me.

"You said she'd bring it on Monday. It's Monday. Where is she?"

"How am I supposed to know?" I said. "I'm just the messenger,"

My mother pinched the back of my arm.

"Delphine, watch your tone," she grumbled under her breath before turning a smile to Lumiere. "Like I said, we aren't expecting them today, but I'm sure she will bring your payment the next time she is in town. They have to come back for that plane sometime, right?"

"Hmph," Lumiere said before walking away.

My mother turned to me with her hands on her hips.

"I don't know what's gotten into you these days, but whatever it is, you better figure it out, because I don't like your attitude, and I most certainly won't let you be rude to guests in this house."

"Lumiere is rude," I said. "I was just speaking his language so he could understand me better."

My mother's mouth was a thin line, one that trembled slightly, and her cheeks started to flush red right before my eyes.

"Delphine Marie Cormier you go to you get out of my sight, and don't come back until you have a better attitude."

I dropped the half-washed green beans into the collider, untied my apron and dumped it on the table. I thought for a moment to go to my room, but the idea of laying on my bed and not sleeping was unsavory. I pushed open the front door.

I walked along the road, but not toward Lumiere's house, not toward the small stream, or the small grove of cherry trees, and definitely not toward the barn. No, I walked in the opposite direction, toward the town center.

But when I arrived at the outskirts of town, at the place where cobblestones sprang up from the dirt road, I thought better of it.

 _Everyone will have questions,_ I thought. _About the plane, about the pilots. Better not._

I found myself climbing over the rickety wooden fence into the farthest stretches of the Cormier vineyards. I found myself wandering the rows of leafy green vines, idly reaching for the fruit, idly plucking it and tasting it, allowing myself that simple pleasure. The grapes were perfect, just right for winemaking. I wondered if my father knew.

 _Of course he knows,_ I thought. _He knows everything about these grapes._

I smiled to myself, nostalgic for the time when I used to think my father knew everything about _everything_ , for the time when the vineyards _were_ everything, and beyond them, even Rosheim had seemed like part of the elusive _everything else_.

But I was only a child then; I could not go back to those days even if I had wanted to. It was a way of thinking I was missing, not an actual time or place; it was a naiveté that was both embarrassing and precious.

I spit the grapes seeds onto the ground, and the red juice landed on my bandaged hand, looking almost indistinguishable from a fresh drop of blood.

 _Everything has changed,_ I thought. _Only the vineyards are the same._

The thought made me sad, but I couldn't say why. I looked back at the house. If someone asked me what had changed about the house, about the town, about my family or myself, I wouldn't know where to point. It was a dread, a dull dread, a knowing that _everything else_ in the world was not benevolent and was not that far away.

 _And Cosima brought it with her,_ I thought. _She brought that machine with her, right here to our home. Where did she even get it from? Why would she bring it here? No, I don't want to know!_

I walked alone between the grapevines, my back to the road, walking as far away from everyone as I could without actually leaving the boundaries of my home. I wanted to be alone, I wanted some answers, but most of all, I wanted the pilots to leave so that everything could go back to the way it was.

But then the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I heard a sound, the distant rumbling of a motor, and I spun around. I stood still and listened. In the distance, I saw the characteristic cloud of dust rising up from the road and spilling over the tops of the grapevines.

_They're back!_

I took off running toward the road, but I was too far away. I waved my hands in the air and shouted, but the motorcycle tore right past.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

The motorcycle had passed so fast that I couldn't be sure, but I thought I saw Cosima in the driver's seat, and I thought I saw a suitcase in the side car. And most shocking of all, I thought I saw Cosima's bare knees and bare elbows — she was wearing a dress.

"She's back!" I shouted to the grapevines, and I ran as fast as I could toward the house.


	11. Chapter 11

I slowed as I approached the drive, not wanting to appear too eager. But my feet insisted on skipping beneath me, and soon I was at the door.

It had been left open. Everyone was already inside. I heard them laughing and one laugh stood out from the others, the color of it somehow brighter, lighter, more nervous.

I stood in the doorway and, for a moment, no one noticed me.

Cosima stood at the table with her back to me. I had been right; she was in a dress, a beautiful red sundress with little yellow and white flowers on it. The pleated fabric fell just below her knee. Her hair was pulled back and tamed into a _tresse française._

She set the suitcase on the table and lifted the lid. She ran her fingers over several packages, each wrapped in brown paper and tied with a blue ribbon.

"J'ai apporté des cadeaux," Cosima said. _I brought gifts._

"Non, non!" my mother said.

"Oh, you didn't have to go and do that," my father said.

"Well, since you won't let me rent the barn..." she said. "It's the least I could do. It's nothing really."

"Where's mine?" Laurent said.

He looked up as he laughed, spotting me in the doorway.

"Oh, there you are," he said. "Look! Cosima brought presents!"

Everyone looked at me; Cosima turning her whole body, an expectant smile already on her face.

"Did she?" I said.

I smiled back, suddenly feeling all the exhaustion of three restless nights. Maybe she noticed because she looked concerned, taking the smallest step toward me, but then hesitating. On weak legs, I moved toward the table, reached for a chair, and sat down.

Cosima turned back toward my mother.

"This is for you Madame Cormier," she said.

My mother opened the package, pulling lightly on the navy blue ribbon. Inside the paper were several yards of red fabric, the same fabric that Cosima was wearing.

"Oh! C'est magnifique!" my mother said with a gasp.

"The shopkeeper assured me it's the latest fashion in Paris."

"Oh! I believe it!" my mother said, running her fingers over the fabric. "I've never...it's just lovely! Merci! Merci beaucoup!"

"Where's mine?" Laurent teased.

Cosima handed him a small black box, the only present not wrapped in paper.

Laurent looked at it suspiciously.

"This looks rather small," he said.

"Just open it," Cosima said.

I couldn't see inside the box, but upon opening it, Laurent's eyes went wide.

"Well? What is it?" my father said. "I know it's not a pearl necklace."

Laurent turned the box toward us. Inside there was a set of gold-plated cufflinks (at least, I think they were gold-plated). They were each decorated with an ornate "L." The design was simple, clean — elegant.

"Well, won't I look as pretty as a peacock in these?!" Laurent said.

Everyone laughed. My father patted Laurent on the back and then turned toward Cosima, trying to conceal his anticipation.

"Monsieur Cormier," she said, and she pulled out the largest package yet. "I don't know much about wine making...but I asked around, and I was told that this…"

She paused, trying to remember the word.

"...saccharometer… is that right?"

My father's eyes lit up, _a deja vu_ moment, a repeat of Laurent's expression.

"Anyway, it's state of the art, made of hand-blown glass, and I'm told it's the most accurate on the market," Cosima continued.

My father took the package from her hands and set it down on the table, gently, as if he were handling an infant. He pulled off the brown paper to reveal a wooden case. And when he opened the case, he gasped.

Inside, nestled into the blue velvet lining, the glass bulb instruments sparkled like fine crystal.

"Well, will you look at that?" my father said quietly. "Now I don't have to haul grapes up to Lumiere's. That's just wonderful."

"Speaking of Monsieur Lumiere," Cosima said. "I've got something for him as well."

"Oh, thank goodness," Laurent said. "That old crab has been looking for you all day."

I only half-heard Laurent's remark. Instead, I watched Cosima's hands as she reached for the top of the suitcase, closed the lid, and was about to latch it shut. But at the last moment, Laurent stopped her.

"Wait a minute," he said. "What about Delphine's present?"

"Oh, right, of course!" Cosima said. "Of course, I was going to get to that, but it's getting late in the day. I think I should go see Monsieur Lumiere right away!"

"Oh, come on," Laurent said.

I scowled at him, even shook my head, but he didn't stop.

"It will only take a few minutes," he continued.

"Right," Cosima said, and our eyes met. "Of course. Here. It's not much really."

She pulled the last package out and handed it to me. I knew what it was right away. The weight of it, the binding on the spine, the thick cover; it was unmistakable.

"A book?" I said.

She shrugged her shoulder. "Yeah, nothing fancy."

I tore the paper away. The cover was made of a very fine leather, and inlaid into the leather was a full-color illustration of a gentleman and a lady; the lady lounging on a drawing room sofa, and the gentleman standing behind her, both looking debonair. Embossed into the leather was the title, _The Dangerous Liaisons_.

"It's in English," Cosima said. "So you can study...so you can compare them...the English and French versions."

"Oh," I said. "Merci."

I ran my fingertip along the embossing.

 _The Dangerous Liaisons...Is this some kind of joke?_ I thought. _Or, perhaps, an apology? Or, worse, a warning?_

"Anyway," Cosima said. "I should hurry along to Monsieur Lumiere's. I don't want to interrupt his dinner."

"I'll escort you," Laurent said. "I mean, _we_ will... right, Delphine?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said, clutching the book to my chest. "I'm not feeling so well. Why don't you go ahead."

"Come on," he said. "We might need your help translating."

"Leave her alone," my mother said. "You heard what she said."

"Alright, " Laurent said, offering his elbow to Cosima. "In that case, I'm all yours; though, I doubt I'll be of much use."

Cosima laughed, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. I cringed. I noticed the smug look on my parents' faces. I scowled.

I pushed back from the table and went upstairs before they were even out the front door.

"What's gotten into that girl?" I heard my mother mutter.

"What do you mean?" my father said.

"You can be really dense sometimes, you know that?" my mother said.

I closed my bedroom door on their conversation and went to the window. I pulled back the curtain and watched the two figures walk down the road, one in a sweat-stained work shirt and the other in a lovely red sundress. Laurent was making jokes the whole way. I could tell because she laughed and laughed.

But soon the road curved around a hill, and they curved with it, disappearing from view.

_He better not say a word about me!_

I sat at my desk, setting the book down and staring at the leather cover. I knew right away that it was expensive. I'd never seen such an expensive looking book in my life. When I lifted the cover, the binding squeaked. The inside was lined with a red velvet, and pressed between the cover and the first page was a gold ribbon placeholder. Even the paper seemed expensive.

I ran my fingers over the front page. It was smooth, and the ink was thick; it stood up from the paper.

And that's when I noticed it; the title on the cover page was different from the title on the leather.

" _The Well of Loneliness_ ," I whispered. "By Radclyffe Hall."

I flipped the cover back and forth, checking to make sure I hadn't made a mistake. But there was no mistaking it. The outside cover absolutely did not match the inside cover.

I flipped to the first page of the story, and read.

" _Not very far from Upton-on-Severn — between it, in fact, and the Malvern Hills — stands the county seat of Gordon of Bramley…"_

I could not guess what the story was about, not from the first paragraph, or from the second.

I read on.

It seemed an ordinary story about a man, Sir Phillip, and his wife, Anna, and their completely ordinary desire to have a baby boy. But then I got to this part, and I felt a sudden flutter of butterflies in my stomach.

" _He insisted on calling the infant Stephen, nay more, he would have it baptized by that name. 'We've called her Stephen for so long,' he told Anna, 'that I can't really see why we shouldn't go on —'"_

There was something thrilling about a baby girl named Stephen, one that the parents were convinced was a boy, even when she was still in the womb.

I read on and on, the pages passing easily; the time passing easily, too.

As the story of little Stephen progressed, I began to suspect why Cosima had given it to me.

" _At about this time Stephen first became conscious of an urgent necessity to love… with Collins, the housemaid...she was florid, full-lipped and full-bosomed, rather ample indeed for a young girl of twenty, but her eyes were unusually blue and arresting, very pretty inquisitive eyes...Collins looked up and suddenly smiled, then all in a moment Stephen knew that she loved her — a staggering revelation!"_

My body grew hotter and hotter as I read each word. Little Stephen, all of seven years old, was in love with another woman.

I read on, and I hardly noticed the time pass, or the front door open and close, or the footsteps that moved timidly toward my door.

I only closed the book when I heard the _knock, knock, knock!_

"Oui?" I said, jumping up from the desk.

I leaned back, hiding the book from view.

But it was only Cosima. She poked her head into the room.

"Oh! It's you!" I sighed, bringing my hand to my forehead.

"I'm sorry! Did I scare you?" she said, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"Non," I said. "Come in."

My body was still hot from the story; my throat still dry. She stepped into the room, holding her empty suitcase. I felt a pang of fear.

"Are you leaving already?" I asked.

"Oh, this?" she said. "No."

She set it down on the floor and closed the door.

I swallowed hard.

"Actually," she said. "I have a favor to ask you."

"Oh?"

I crossed my arms.

"It's about the package in the plane," she said.

I looked back down at the suitcase. It was remarkably similar in size to the cipher machine case.

"I want to take it with me...take it away from here," she said.

She also crossed her arms, and I couldn't help but notice the way the gesture emphasized the neckline of her dress, or the shape of her forearms.

"I see," I said.

"But I need your help."

I turned away from her. I was scared, but I couldn't tell what was scaring me the most. Was it the idea of the machine itself, the fact that it implicated her in a covert group of spies — spies engaging in espionage against the Germans, no less. Or, was it the fear that the machine — even more than the plane — was the only thing tying her to Rosheim, and once it was removed…

"I know what it is," I said.

"What?"

"Your package. I know what it is. _Zie Chiffriermaschine…_ I found it last night."

She looked suddenly sick, her mouth falling open, and her shoulders leaning forward.

"You what?"

"Last night. I went to the barn and I found your secret hiding place. It wasn't that hard really. I'm surprised Felix hasn't found it yet."

She sat down on the edge of my bed.

"But don't worry," I continued, my voice harsher than I had wanted. "I didn't tell anybody about it. _I'm_ not the one who can't keep a _secret_."

She was quiet for a moment, looking down at her toes. I heard my heart beating, and I could barely stand her silence. For a moment, I regretted my words. An apology was sitting on the tip of my tongue, but my lips were shut up tight. I breathed through my nostrils and waited for her reply.

"So, you'll help me?" she said, looking up.

"What?"

"If you already know where it is, that's perfect! You can retrieve it tonight! You can put it in this suitcase. I'll say I forgot it and come back for it in the morning."

She stood suddenly, picking up the suitcase and pushing it toward me.

"Fine," I said, arms still crossed. "But on one condition."

"What?"

"I want to come with you."

"Come with me where?"

"When you meet your...contact...or whoever it is you're going to meet in Colmar."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it's dangerous. Because you don't want to get mixed up in this."

"I don't care," I said. "I want to come with you. I want some answers."

"Answers about what?"

"About you, about all of this, about that machine. Like, how did you get it? I mean, how did a couple of cartographers smuggle a German cipher machine into France in the first place? Where is it from? And more so, isn't someone looking for it?"

"I don't know!" she shouted.

It was only then that I realized I had been shouting, too.

"Try to keep your voice down, okay?" she said. "I don't know. That's the point. We aren't supposed to know much. That's how we keep each other safe, in case…"

"In case of what?"

"In case of _capture_."

She said the last word like a whisper, but I heard her loud and clear.

"I don't care," I said. "I still want to come with you."

We were at a stand off; me standing in front of my desk, my arms crossed and my chin high; her holding the suitcase in front of her stomach with both hands.

But then she set the suitcase down. She moved back to my bed, sitting with her elbows on her knees, really leaning into her thoughts.

I stared her down, trying to be firm, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I noticed her weight on my quilt, and the way her body made dents on my mattress. I kept a straight face, but seeing her sitting there, looking up at me, it quickened my pulse.

There was a knock at the door.

"Ladies," Laurent said through the door. "It's nearly time for dinner."

"Okay!" I said. "We'll be right down."

But neither of us moved. Neither of us even breathed until his footsteps had retreated down the staircase.

"Can we talk about this later?" she whispered.

"No," I said. "Promise me now, or no deal."

"Why do you want to throw yourself into this so badly?"

"Oh, no. I'm not the one who threw me into this. You threw me into this. Me and my entire family."

"Not on purpose!"

She stood up.

"It doesn't matter if it was on purpose or not. The fact is, you know things."

"It's not me," she protested.

"Or your father does, or your contact does; it doesn't matter. All that matters is you know people who know things about what's coming… or… what might be coming."

"Yes, and that knowledge is dangerous. The less you know the better. Don't you understand?"

"I understand very clearly. I understand that when you leave, I will be left in the dark again…"

She took a step toward me.

"Delphine…" she said.

"I mean _we_ ," I stuttered. " _We_ , us country people, we will be left in the dark, wondering if, or when, we might be attacked, wondering if we are fools to stay. So, if you're right, if there is a possibility that the Nazis might attack, then I want to know the people who saw it coming, the people who were trying to prevent it. If it comes to war, I want to know who the real fighters are."

Her face was blank, as if she hadn't fully comprehended my meaning. But then her mouth set into a tight-lipped line.

"Okay. If that's what you want."

I exhaled.

 _That was a pretty good speech,_ I thought.

For a moment, I wondered if I had really meant it.

"We'd better go," I said. "You're staying for dinner aren't you?"

"I wasn't sure if I was invited," she said.

"Of course you're invited. You must be sick of my mother's invitations by now."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh," I said. "Well, I'd like you to stay… I mean, I'm _asking_ you to stay."


	12. Chapter 12

She did stay.

She stayed through dinner and she stayed after, me standing by the sink, her standing by my side, so close that her elbow brushed against mine.

"Here, let me," she said, taking a washcloth from my hands.

"No, you don't have to," I said.

"You shouldn't get your finger wet."

"D'accord," I said, stepping aside. "I'll dry then."

The dishes banged together noisily, and our arms brushed together silently; skin on skin so quiet that only we could hear it.

I looked at her sometimes, stealing glances of her ear, her neck and the tiny hairs there; collecting these impressions, like a curator collects works of art.

"So," I said, using English, "I started reading my new book."

"Oh?" Cosima said, looking up.

She smiled. I collected that smile greedily.

"And what did you think?" she asked.

"I think...you're right. It's very different from the French version."

"Hmmm..."

"If one didn't know any better, they might think it was a completely different book."

"That's the miracle of language, isn't it?"

"Tell me," I said. "Where did you find such a lovely copy?"

"I brought it with me," she said.

"Oh," I said.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure they don't publish it in France - the English version, I mean."

"I see," I said. "Well, it's beautiful. Thank you."

"It's nothing," she said. "How far did you read?"

"Far enough..."

She looked up again, a hint of mischief in her smile. She looked around to see if anyone was listening. Then she leaned in close.

"Look," she said. "The story isn't so good, but I wanted you to have it, because it was written by one of us."

"One of us?"

"Yeah, you know, another _invert_."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I wanted to give it to you in private… I wanted to explain, but… "

"It's fine."

"No, I wanted to say, when you read it... just take it with a grain of salt...just be cautious."

"Cautious?"

"I mean, the story is kind of depressing. Just look at the title — _The Well of Loneliness_ doesn't really suggest a happy ending, does it?"

"No, I guess not."

"Anyway, I just wanted to say, even though the book focuses on a lot of the bad things about our...condition...I think there are a lot good things about it, too."

"Our condition?"

"You know what I mean, our way of..."

She looked down at my chest suddenly. Her eyes went from my chest to my face and then to my forehead and back to my eyes.

"Our way of what?"

She was about to say the word, but then Laurent walked into the kitchen, a bottle of wine in one hand, and several glasses in the other. He leaned his weight against the door frame.

"I hope you're not leaving yet," he said.

"I don't know," Cosima said.

She handed me the last dish.

"In that case, I'll decide for you. You can't leave because I just built a magnificent bonfire out back, and I brought out a bottle of our very best Sylvaner, and it's not going to drink itself."

"Oh, I probably shouldn't drink," she said. "I have to drive the motorcycle."

"Nonsense, just one glass," Laurent said.

He clinked the glasses together.

I could smell the fire he spoke of — the smoky scent of freshly cut alder wafted into the kitchen — and I was overwhelmed with a nostalgic craving; a craving for roasted chestnuts.

"I don't know," Cosima said, taking a step back.

I reached for her hand.

"Stay," I said, surprising both of us.

"What?"

Her expression begged, _Don't you remember the plan?_

But I didn't care about the plan. I didn't care about my promise, or the plane, or the cipher machine. I only cared about holding her hand, keeping her still, keeping her close for a little bit longer.

"Stay," I said again. "Just a little while."

"Okay," she said with a shrug. "Sure."

"Perfect!" Laurent said.

By the time we got outside, the fire was burning clean and high. It cracked and spit and radiated enough heat to keep us several meters back. The sun was still up, but just barely, and the evening winds had kicked up, throwing the bright yellow flames into a rhythm that could not be predicted — a constant _flicker_ , _whip_ and _fade_.

"Sit here," Laurent said, pointing to a log.

"Where did this come from?" I asked.

"I made it," he said.

"When?"

"Just now — out in the barn."

Cosima was already sitting. She reached for the glasses in Laurent's arms.

"Oh, merci," he said.

"Where are you going to sit?" I asked.

"Right here," Laurent said.

He pushed the bottle of Sylvaner into my arms, stepped a few meters off, and returned with another, smaller log; a log meant for one.

I looked down at Cosima, at the space next to her on the log meant for two.

 _Very clever, Laurent,_ I thought.

But he didn't have to try so hard. I was happy to sit next to her; ecstatic, even.

"This is so cozy," Cosima said. "The smell is delicious! It reminds me of the beach."

"The beach?" Laurent said.

"Yeah," she said. "When I was a child, we used to build bonfires on the beach. Isn't it funny how a smell can take you right back… to another place, another time?"

I nodded my head in agreement. I thought about the craving I had felt when I had first noticed the smell of the bonfire. Initially, it had been a craving for chestnuts, roasted sweet potatoes, and apple cider. But now, with Cosima next to me, my craving was quickly transforming, quickly outgrowing well-worn childhood memories, quickly expanding into other realms. I craved sights — her smile in the fire's glow; I craved sounds — her laughter and the smack of her lips against the wine glass; I craved touches — her knee bumping my knee, her elbow bumping my elbow; I craved them all, in tandem, again and again, me leaning over, leaning in, until finally, my hand rested on the log behind her, and my face was very close to her face; so close that our foreheads nearly touched.

But, also, I craved tastes…

I looked at her lips.

"Tell me, Cosima, where's Felix?" Laurent asked.

He had tried to say it casually, holding his glass very close to his chest and leaning back on the other hand, but I heard the catch in his voice.

She turned toward him.

"Felix?"

"Is he in Strasbourg?"

"No," she said. "He had to return to Paris, to find the materials he needs, and also to apologize to his father… on my behalf."

Laurent laughed, but I heard the disappoint in his voice. "I don't envy him."

"No," she said, brushing her hair nervously. "I got him into this mess. I should have gone to apologize myself, but I had some other things to wrap up first."

"Right," Laurent said. "Lumiere."

"Exactly."

Laurent took a long drink of wine and shrugged his shoulders as if Felix's absence were merely an unfortunate sidenote, instead of the main thesis of his underlying melancholy.

 _God, he's much better at hiding these things than I am_ , I thought. _Or, maybe he's just had more practice._

When he brought his glass down, the smile had returned to his face.

"And now that you've made good on your promise and paid your dues, will you be returning to Paris, too?" he said.

"Well, there are still a few things I have to do, but…"

Cosima turned toward me, glancing at me over her wine glass. Her eyes were dark — not a trace of sunflower hazel in them.

"Oh, there's no rush," Laurent said, picking up the bottle. "Let Felix deal with it, he's a big boy. More wine?"

"Oh, no, I really shouldn't," Cosima said.

She covered the top of her glass with her hand.

"Alright then," Laurent said. "More for me."

 _Uh-oh, I know where this is going,_ I thought. _Straight to the bottom of the bottle._

He turned the bottle completely upside down, but only a drop came out. Cosima laughed.

"Oh god!" she said. "Have we really finished the whole bottle?"

"No worries," Laurent said, standing up. "There's more where that came from."

"No, no. I should really go…" Cosima said.

"Nonsense!" Laurent shouted over his shoulder, but he was already halfway to the house.

On another night, I might have tried to stop him, tried to convince him that he'd already had enough, but on that night, well...

Cosima watched him go, her face turned away from me. I stared at her neck, at her shoulder. Maybe it was the wine, or our newfound privacy, but I felt brave.

I leaned close to her ear.

"Stay," I whispered.

She turned around, startled.

"What?"

She was blushing. It was unmistakable. She looked down at her hands. She rubbed the stem of her wine glass with her thumbs.

"Delphine, I…I have to leave, I mean, I have to go back to Paris — maybe not tomorrow — but soon."

"I don't care," I said.

"I thought…" she said. "I thought you didn't want to… I mean, I don't want anyone to get hurt. I mean, do you? Want to…?"

"Do I want to what?" I said.

Briefly, she touched the tip of her finger to the tip of my chin. She smiled and tilted her head to the side.

"You know…"

I laughed at the feeling, embarrassed but unable to look away.

"Aren't we already doing it? Whatever it is?" I said.

I could see the flames dancing in her eyes, the constant _flicker, whip_ and _fade_.

"Yeah," she said. "I guess so."

"So stay," I whispered again.

She said nothing as she regarded me; she said nothing as her eyes trailed over my face, as she smiled and looked away, as she reached for my hand, slipping her delicate fingers around my mine.

And then, just as we heard Laurent's voice, she leaned over, so fast that I barely had time to understand. She leaned over and she kissed me, right on the shoulder, her lips warm through the sleeve of my dress.

She kissed me and turned away, smiling as Laurent approached.

Laurent rambled, "I couldn't find another Sylvaner in the house; shall we change to the Riesling?"

But I was speechless, my mouth open, my mind only just registering the kiss that had my body burning from the inside out. I squirmed against the log beneath me.

"That's fine," I said. "That's fine."

Not that my response mattered; Laurent was already handing out new glasses.

"I hope Delphine has used her powers of persuasion to convince you," he said.

"Yes, just barely," Cosima said, taking the glass. "Just barely."

As we sat by the fire, Laurent and I chatting about school, and Cosima chatting about her private tutors, a strange thing happened. As the flames in the fire pit dwindled down to embers, the flames in Cosima's eyes seemed to grow. But when I say flames, I mean the feeling more than the reality — a mystery that I still can't quite understand. Maybe it was the wine distorting my perception, or maybe it was the lenses of her glasses distorting the light, but her eyes seemed to grow dark — and then darker still — and her pupils seemed to grow so large and so black that they swallowed all surrounding light; and at the same time, her cheeks and her lips radiated a happy, pinkish glow.

"I must be quite drunk," I said suddenly. "This is not polite."

"Nonsense!" Laurent shouted.

He tried to pour me another glass and I refused.

Luckily, our mother opened the back door and called out.

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"We're entertaining guests!" Laurent shouted back.

"I'm serious, Laurent. Let's call it a night, soon."

"Yes, maman."

"I mean it, Laurent," she said before closing the door.

Laurent stood up, hiding the bottle behind his log.

"I'll take care of her," he said. "Don't worry."

He ran toward the house, leaving Cosima and I quite alone.

"I think this is our chance to escape," I said, standing up.

"Escape? From who?"

"From Laurent," I said. "He's so disappointed that his beau Felix didn't return that he will drink us to death."

"Disappointed?" she said. "He's disappointed? About Felix?"

"Yes," I said. "Can't you tell?"

"He looks fine to me."

"Come on," I said.

I pulled on her hand, but I didn't have to. She followed easily, running behind me, laughing between strides.

"Where are we going?" she shouted.

I led her to the side of the house, the one with the crumbling wall.

"Up on the roof," I said.

"The roof?!" she said, letting go of my hand.

"Yeah."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Laurent and I used to do it all the time."

"Used to?"

"Yes, when we were kids."

"How long ago was that?"

"I don't know, when we were kids."

Cosima looked up at the stone wall. It was uneven, to say the least. Some stones had already fallen away, some stones were cracked and jagged, and the old mortar was invisible, replaced with lines of soft green moss.

"It looks kind of dangerous," she said. "Remember the cherry tree? You could barely get to the second branch."

I did remember the cherry tree — I remembered it very well.

"Nonsense," I said, stealing a line from Laurent's handbook of persuasion.

I reached for a stone, the corner of which had broken away long ago, and I pulled myself up.

"It's pretty easy, actually," I grunted.

In a few moments, I was leaning over the edge of the roof, pushing myself forward on my stomach until I was stable, then I climbed to my knees and stood up.

I stepped to the edge of the roof and looked down.

"Come on!" I whispered. "He's going to notice we're gone!"

She smiled with her head tilted back. Then, without a word, she began to scale the wall. Her foot slipped only once, kicking down a storm of dust and moss, but then she steadied herself, moving slowly and steadily up the side of the wall until she was close enough to reach my hand. I pulled her up the rest of the way.

The part of the roof we stood on was made of the same loose stones and slanted at a very shallow angle. It was the roof of the pantry, an addition to the original house. We walked across it until we got to the taller, more steeply angled roof of the original building.

"Come on," I said, climbing up onto the shingled roof.

She looked concerned.

"You'll be fine, I promise," I said. "Besides, this side has the best view."

"View of what?" she asked.

But when we reached the precipice and looked out, I heard her gasp.

"Oh..."

Standing where we were, on the highest peak of the roof, looking out over the darkened vineyards, we could see the little town of Rosheim, the main avenue lit up, and the windows of the houses, too; lit up like fireflies nestled together against the night. And past Rosheim, stood the Vosges Mountains, dark purple against the blue-black sky. And the sky, with only a sliver of moon, was as dark as Cosima's eyes, and filled with stars.


	13. Chapter 13

Yes, the stars, as far away as they were, seemed to conspire with me, seemed to laugh at my good fortune. I glanced quickly at Cosima. The curls at her temple blew about in the evening winds. She shivered and hugged herself.

 _She's so beautiful,_ I thought. _How did I ever get her here — alone — in the dark?_

I felt a chill, too, but an entirely different kind. I leaned my head back and sighed.

 _We told you so_ , the stars seemed to say. _We told you._

"Are you cold?" she asked.

"Non," I said, hugging myself, too. "Non."

"On the one day that I don't bring my jacket," she said. "That's the day you decide to climb on the roof in the middle of the night."

I laughed.

"I'm fine, really," I said. "Do you think I planned this?"

Though it was dark, she smiled. I know she smiled, because her teeth appeared, ghostly white, and in stark contrast to her coal black eyes. In fact, all the colors of her face and hair had changed, everything was cast in a silver-blue. The only thing that looked the same was her dress, still unmistakably red, though a deeper shade, and the little flowers on it, they glowed like polka dots; I could not stop my eyes from connecting them.

"I think you've been planning this since we were interrupted under the cherry tree."

I scoffed, but she wasn't completely wrong. I think I touched my own face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. "How could I have planned anything? I didn't even know when I would see you again."

I took a step backward, and my heel slipped on a loose shingle. She reached both hands out, grabbing my forearms, and steadying me. My heart pounded.

"Maybe we should sit," she said.

"Yes," I said.

She helped me sit first, then sat down next to me, her body shielding me from the wind. I pulled my knees up to my chest, not caring about being ladylike, because I was cold and it was dark, and no one could see me anyway. I was pretty sure that even Cosima couldn't see me; that I was as equally pale and hidden in night shadows as she was.

 _I wonder if my eyes are as black as hers?_ I thought.

My heart pounded, and with her so close to me, with her skin so warm at my side, it was suddenly hard to look at her.

"Anyway," I said. "I didn't plan anything. How could I have planned any of this? How could I have anticipated any of the events of the last four days? God, has it only been four days?"

"I know what you mean," she said. "Seven days ago, I couldn't even fly a plane."

"You still can't fly a plane," I said.

She laughed.

"Well, the flying part is easy," she conceded. "It's the landing that's still a little touch and go."

"How could I have planned this?" I repeated.

I looked off toward Rosheim, knowing the sunflower field was out there, even guessing the approximate location, though I couldn't make out any of the details of the flowers, or the track of dirt where she had almost run me right over. I couldn't see them that night, but for a moment, a flash of memory set fire to my thighs — a memory, only four days old, but already well-etched into my mind — the moment she pulled that helmet off, and then the moment she ran the red handkerchief over her dusty neck.

 _Even then,_ I thought. _Even then, how could I know? All the things she would set into motion?_

"Delphine?" she said.

"Hmm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," I lied.

I bit my lip, thankful for the darkness.

"Come on," she said, and she nudged my ribs with her elbow.

She was so warm! She was so warm and every time she touched me I shivered.

"It's just…"

 _I can't stop thinking about that kiss!_ I thought. _Or your trousers! Or the collar of your shirt! Or the line of your neck, or your lips, or your hands, or your cheeks and the way they push up on your glasses when you smile, or how happy you look when you talk about San Francisco!_

"Ehm...it's just, I've never…"

"Me, neither," she said, touching my hand.

Oh, god, I trembled!

"I mean, I've never felt this way before," I said. "About anyone. I didn't know I could feel like this, about anyone."

"Oh," she said quietly, almost relieved.

"Wait a minute, what did you think I meant?"

"Just, um..." she said, and for a moment, I thought she wanted to drop the subject.

But when I looked at her, when I turned my head in her direction, when I realized how close our faces were, when I found myself swallowed by the black orbs of her eyes — I knew that was the last thing she wanted.

She reached a hand up; I felt it more than saw it. She touched my cheek; I smiled and stopped breathing. She leaned forward; I smelled her breath before I tasted her lips.

And what a strange taste it was — something I'd never anticipated — the taste of a stranger's mouth, of a stranger's tongue!

It was sour; it was bitter; it was initially shocking, but the shock gave way to craving, to impulse, and the impulse had a rhythm all it's own, a surging and receding, a pushing and a pulling, not unlike a fire in the wind, _a flicker, whip and fade._

There was a moment, a brief uncanny feeling that I was no longer myself, no longer _in_ myself, but that I was a few meters off, watching the spectacle with an almost scientific curiosity. I watched my hands; they pulled at her arms, at her neck and hair, at the fabric of her beautiful dress. I watched my mouth; it pushed rather inelegantly against her own. I watched my knees; they leaned toward her, my legs long and unwieldy, somehow managing to entangle with hers, until we were sitting face to face, pushing and pulling like a clumsy rowing team that didn't know which direction to take the boat.

Watching myself, I thought of what a graceless mess of gestures we were, and I was almost embarrassed for us. But then, the observer was gone, and I was only a bundle of sensations. My only thoughts were a primal scheming, a desperate conniving, trying to find ways to get more parts of her body pressed against more parts of mine.

Perhaps she felt the same, because soon she was pushing me back, her hand not-so-gentle on my shoulder. I did lean back, separating from her for a moment, but reaching my hands up, reaching around her neck. Our heavy pantings filled the space between our mouths. She struggled to position herself above me.

"Wait," she whispered. "Wait."

She sat up, pulling off her sandals and setting them aside. Then her warm hands were at my ankles, and I laughed. She pulled off my sandals, too. I watched, laying on my back with my knees up — dazed, shocked, giddy — as she pulled off her glasses, set them aside and looked down at me. I could see nothing of the features on her face. I could see only the stars behind her. I heard someone laugh, but whether it was her laughing or the stars, I'll never know.

We kissed and touched, and kissed and touched. I closed my eyes, because I couldn't see anyway. I closed my eyes, but I used my hands, placing them on her face; sometimes holding her very still, running my fingertips over her cheeks, over her eyebrows, over the delicate curves of her earlobes; sometimes pulling her against my mouth, kissing so hard that our teeth clattered; then apologizing and kissing all over her face instead.

She laughed, quietly — bubbling like the best champagne. She laughed and kissed my shoulder, pulling the sleeve up, placing her hot lips on my bare skin, sending up thousands of goosebumps; they rippled out in waves until every centimeter of my skin was aroused and waiting for more sensation.

I gasped, and it sounded incredibly loud.

Her hand went to my mouth, and she laughed.

 _Hush,_ she whispered. _Hush, hush._

But her hand on my mouth did nothing to quiet me. I was filled with a perverse desire to bite her, to feel her flesh give way between my teeth. I kissed her hand instead, pushing her palm against my mouth; then I kissed her fingers, one by one.

She did not cry out like I did. No, she did something better.

She bucked her hips against mine, sharply at first, but by the time I kissed her pinky, our bodies were moving together, deliberately, easily.

I liked it. Whatever she was doing, I liked it. She pulled her hand away, kissing my mouth again, so slowly, so slowly…

And her hips moving the same way, so slowly against mine…so slowly, drawing breath from my mouth, drawing blood from my heart, drawing electricity from the very air and sending it in volts through my skin, down my spine and straight there, there... _there_.

Until I thought I could bare it no longer, until I thought I should cry, or scream or laugh; until I thought I should fall into hysterics right there beneath her.

And then she did something unthinkable.

She reached down, and she grabbed her own skirt, which was dark red and wrinkled from our striving. She gathered the material in her fist and pulled it up.

My eyes were open. The stars were bright. I saw her bare thigh, but only for a moment; she pressed it between my thighs, she pressed it right _there_ , she pressed it right there and she was so warm, I felt her through my skirt.

I moaned into the palm of her hand, again and again, as she moved over me, her face buried in my neck, and her breath loud in my ear.

I reached down. I touched her bare leg. I squeezed her flesh, and it was _so_ soft, softer than I ever could have imagined.

I opened my eyes again.

The sky was so full of stars, and they all watched me; not winking anymore, but weeping.

 _Why are you weeping?_ I tried to ask.

 _Because you're so beautiful,_ they said.

And that's when I felt Cosima's fingers on my face. She kissed my eyes, and shushed me like a mother shushes a child.

"Why are you crying?" she whispered.

I realized then, that it was not the stars that were weeping after all, but me.

"Belle!" was all I could say. "Très belle!"

I embraced her, pulling her down to my chest and pressing my mouth against the crown of her head. Her hair smelled like smoke, and in that moment, that silver-blue moment, I knew I'd never smell another bonfire again, nor look at the wide open starry sky, without being filled with a great craving for her — and a great sadness — because soon she would leave, and she would take all the stars with her.


	14. Chapter 14

But let's not dwell on the sad things.

Let's linger a little longer in the sweetness of that night.

So many times I have retreated there, stowing away within those precious moments — the moments when the moon had already slipped over the horizon.

Cosima had rolled onto her side, her head resting on the crook of her elbow, her knees tucked up and pushed against my hip, and her face cast in the subtlest of shadows.

As for me, I was still on my back and unable to move.

But I looked at her.

I looked at her a long time, keeping my eyes wide open, and holding absolutely still, until finally, the features of her face came into soft focus — lit up with starshine — so beautiful and so fleeting that I was scared to blink.

"Do you think that if we started counting stars — if we started right now — that we'd be able to count them all before the sun came up?" she asked.

She ran her fingertip along the inside of my forearm, up and down, up and down, as if she were drawing me into existence.

"I don't know," I said. "But someone might notice that we were gone by then."

"You're right," she said.

We sighed because we both knew we'd have to move soon.

She ran her finger down, and when she reached my wrist, I opened my hand, and she slipped hers right against mine until our palms were pressed together and our fingers were intertwined.

I shivered. The cool sweat on my forehead and under my arms was made cooler by the evening winds; I shivered and sat up.

After we climbed back down the wall, after we brushed the dust off of our crumpled up skirts and kissed one last time in the shadows, we slipped into the house through the back door, tiptoeing down the hall and trying not to draw anyone's attention.

"Delphine? Is that you?" my mother called from the kitchen.

"Oui," I said, freezing in the dim hallway.

"Is Cosima staying the night? It's getting late."

I glanced at Cosima. She smiled with her head down and her index finger pushed against her mouth.

"Oui," I said again.

"I left some extra blankets on your bed," she said.

I could not see into the kitchen, but I heard my mother's voice approaching fast, and so I pushed Cosima behind me — her dress was a rumpled mess, and if seen, would need explaining.

"D'accord," I said just as my mother appeared in the doorway.

"You girls can share the bed, right?" she said.

"Bien?"

"Oh, unless, well, I guess you aren't kids anymore are you? Would she be more comfortable on the sofa down here?"

"Non, non," Cosima said from behind me. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" my mother said. "Delphine's bed is rather small."

"It's not _that_ small," I said.

"And she's a kicker," my mother said.

"Mother! I am not!" I said. I turned toward Cosima and reiterated, "I am not."

"I'll be fine," Cosima said.

"She'll be fine," I said.

"Alright, then," my mother said. "Sleep well."

"Oh," I said, catching my mother's attention before she turned back to the kitchen. "Can I… I mean, would it be alright if… I mean, Cosima has invited me into Strasbourg tomorrow."

My mother leaned against the doorframe, her dishrag over her shoulder and a smile on her face.

" _Stras_ bourg? To _mor_ row?"

She exaggerated every syllable, and I hated every second of it.

"Oui," I said. "If you say it's okay, I'd like to go."

"I don't see why not," she said. "What will you do there?"

"Ehm… "

"I'd like to take Delphine to the theatre," Cosima interjected.

"The theatre?"

"Yes, she said she's never been to a proper theatre before, so I invited to her join me," Cosima said.

"Well!" my mother said, and I thought I saw a spark of envy in her eyes. "I mean, the theatre!"

"I can go then?" I said.

"Let me speak to your father about it. We'll let you know in the morning."

But then she winked at me, and I knew it was all but agreed. Without thinking, I hugged her, squeezing her tight, so tight that she laughed. She hugged me, too, rubbing my back like she used to do when I was younger.

Then she pulled a leaf from my hair.

"What have you been doing out there? Rolling around in the vineyards?"

I blushed. Cosima was quiet.

 _Not far off,_ I thought.

I grabbed the leaf from her hand and tried to shrug off her curiosity.

"It's windy tonight!" I said, laughing.

"Yes, very windy," Cosima added.

And before I could think better of it, I leaned in and kissed my mother's cheek.

"Goodnight," I said.

"Goodnight," she said, pleasantly surprised by the kiss.

"Goodnight, Madame Cormier," Cosima said.

But I was ushering Cosima up the stairs before my mother could properly reply. I think I heard her mumble something under her breath as she lingered in the hallway, her eyes still on us.

When we got to my room, we fell on the bed laughing, knocking the pile of extra blankets on to the floor; my mother was right, the bed was small, almost too small for the both of us.

I hid my face in my hands.

"Merde! I'm so embarrassed!" I said.

"What? She didn't notice anything," Cosima said. "She has no reason to suspect anything."

I looked at her, propping myself up on my elbows.

"But she does… suspect something."

"You think so."

"Oui, but she just doesn't know what…"

"Hmmm," Cosima said, rolling onto her back.

"Actually," I said, "I didn't know what, either, not until this morning… not until I saw you drive by on that motorcycle with that suitcase in the sidecar."

"The suitcase!" Cosima said, sitting up. "I nearly forgot."

"Don't worry," I said. "We still have plenty of time. Besides, we should probably wait until everyone falls asleep before we go out."

She exhaled. "You're right. Of course, you're right."

She laid back.

"So what should we do until then?" she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

 _I've got a few ideas,_ I thought.

"Sleep?" I said.

"But if we fall asleep, how can we be sure we'll wake up? How do we know we won't sleep right until morning?"

"That's a good point," I said.

I ran my finger over the threads in the quilting. I remembered touching the same spot only days before, my heart broken at the idea of Cosima's rejection. I was struck with wonder at how quickly things had changed.

 _Now, here she is,_ I thought, _in my room… in my bed._

I was suddenly grateful that I had washed every sheet in the house the morning after I met her.

"Well, first we could make the bed," I suggested.

"Good idea," she said.

We stood up. We stood side by side, looking down at the pile of blankets on the floor.

"You're welcome to sleep with me," I said, rubbing at the back of my neck. "But, you can also sleep on the floor… maybe I do kick, I'm not sure. I mean, I can't even remember the last time I shared a bed with someone."

"Hmm," she said. "Why don't we make a bed on the floor, and then if you kick me in the middle of the night, I'll have an escape plan."

"Good thinking," I said.

And we set about making her bed, silently holding opposite ends of the blankets and laying them out on the floor, instinctively choosing to lay them on the side of the bed that was furthest from the door and closest to the window.

When we finished I laid down on top of them, stretching out on my back.

"How is it?" she asked, smiling down at me.

"Awful," I said. "You should sleep in the bed. And if I kick, then I will move to the floor."

She kneeled down, leaning over me.

"Or," she said with her hands on her knees. "We can both sleep on the floor… where there's more space… and privacy."

I swallowed and smiled, and that little giggle bubbled up from my stomach.

"Come here," I whispered.

She laid down next to me, and we were completely hidden from the door.

"I've ruined your dress," I said.

She looked down at herself. "It's not ruined, just a little wrinkled. Besides, I can get a new one tomorrow."

"Get a new one?" I said.

"Well, yes," she said. "Where did you think I got all my clothes? I certainly didn't bring any with me!"

"Non, well, non," I stuttered. "I guess I never thought about it. Felix could have brought them."

"No, there is a department store just next to my hotel."

"Oh," I said.

"And we have to go shopping tomorrow anyway,"

"Shopping? Why?"

"Because we're going to the theatre!"

"You weren't serious about that."

"Sure, I was. Why not?"

"We have other things to do."

"What? Meet my contact? That will only take a few minutes."

"You're not serious… you can't be."

"I'm completely serious. We only have a little while left together…"

She reached her hand out, brushing my hair from my face.

"... let's make the most of it."

And then we kissed and kissed, and by the time we had put a few more wrinkles into our skirts, the rest of the house had grown quiet and still, and my lips had grown sore from her kisses, and my cheeks had grown tired from smiling, and my eyelids had grown heavy, and soon I found myself falling into a peaceful exhaustion.

I would have fallen asleep completely — blissfully — had it not been for the lamplight, which taunted me with reminders of another mission.

I awoke with a terrible tingling in my arm where I had laid on it, and when I sat up, the entire house was quiet save for the sound of my own joints cracking.

I looked at Cosima. She was laying on her side, curled up like a cat, her hands tucked under her chin and her cheeks red with the warmth of sleep. Her side ribs rose and fell in a slow rhythm and I knew she was completely gone.

 _I shouldn't wake her,_ I thought. _How could I?_

And though her mouth hung open at a dopey angle, and she snored slightly, she looked beautiful.

I stared at her face.

I'd never had the chance to just look at her, to unselfconsciously regard her, to absorb the details of her face in its unaffected state. I thought that perhaps if I stared at her long enough, then things might make more sense; I might find an answer to a question that wasn't even fully formed in my mind yet.

 _Why her?_ I thought. _Why this one out of everyone?_

Her irises darted back and forth beneath her eyelids; she was dreaming.

 _Does she dream of me?_ I thought.

And in my curiosity about her dreams, I caught a glimpse of my answer; I chose her because she chose me. Or, was it the other way around?

 _Is this attraction?_ I thought. _Is this... love?_

If it was love, it was a completely different kind of love than any love I'd ever felt.

 _The desire to stare at a person's face for long periods of time,_ I thought. _Is that love? The desire to see this face over and over again, in an endless multitude of expressions and gestures, speaking an endless sequence of syllables, sighing an endless number of sighs, and whispering an endless stream of murmurs_ — ' _Hush, hush, hush.'_

I felt a tightness in my chest and a tear in the corner of my eye.

I shook it off.

I stood up and tiptoed toward the door, but no amount of tiptoeing was going to keep the floorboards from creaking.

She caught her breath and opened her eyes, confused for a moment.

"Is it time?" she asked too loudly.

"Shhh!" I said, walking to the closet. "Yes! Let's go."

I pulled out a cardigan and handed it to her.

When I opened my bedroom door, the entire house was black, very black. I stood still and listened, but all I heard was Cosima's breath behind me.

I raised a hand in the air, commanding her to wait in the doorway. And then, slowly, I made my way to Laurent's door. I pressed my ear against it and listened.

Silence.

When I was certain that he was not awake — not reading a book, or smoking a cigarette out his window — I motioned for Cosima to follow me down the stairs.

I took the lantern from the front door, promising myself to only use it if absolutely necessary. But with the sky being as moonless as it was, when we arrived at the barn and stepped inside, it was pitch black.

Against my better judgement, I lit the flame, trying to keep it as low as possible, and hoping we could move quickly and be gone before anyone might see the light.

Cosima must have felt the same, because when I looked up, she had already tossed the suitcase into the back seat and climbed up onto the wing of the plane.

"Can you bring the light?" she said.

I walked to the wing, raised the lantern up, and for the second time that night, for a second red-hot moment, I saw the white of Cosima's undergarments. I blushed and turned away.

She took the lantern, and if she noticed my sudden shock, she didn't say a word.

 _There are more important things to think about, Delphine!_ I scolded myself.

After setting the lantern in place, Cosima opened the suitcase and set it in the front seat. Then she climbed into the back seat and yanked out the back cushion, handing it down to me to hold. Then she reached into the compartment and her eyes went wide.

"Delphine?" she said.

Her voice was deep and deliberate.

"What?"

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"What? What?"

"Where's the machine?"

"Isn't it there?"

"It's not here!"

"What do you mean it's not there?! It was just there! I saw it last night!"

"Well, it's not here now!"

She pressed her palms against her forehead, and tears welled up in her eyes — tears of panic and desperation.

She scowled at me, and for a moment I was struck dumb, but then, seeing Cosima's face cast in the severe, sinister shadows of the lantern light, I knew _exactly_ where it was.

"Merde!" I shouted. "It's Laurent!"


	15. Chapter 15

"I'm going to kill him!" I shouted. "I'm going to drag him out of bed by his perfect hair and I'm going to kill him!"

I was already pulling open the barn doors when Cosima grabbed my arms.

"No! No! Wait!" she said. "Wait, listen!"

I turned toward her.

"Listen, you can't just barge into your house and attack Laurent, you'll wake up your parents."

"I don't care!"

"Well, you should care. The last thing we need is for more people to ask questions. God! I'm the worst spy that ever spied!"

I seethed.

"I didn't say anything to him, I swear!"

"I know, I know."

Again, she pressed her palms to her forehead. "Look, let's just...let's just try to get some sleep tonight, and we can confront Laurent tomorrow, once we get him alone."

"D'accord," I said. "God! I'm going to kill him!"

"Maybe he has a logical explanation for all of this."

"I hope so," I said.

Then I added, muttering under my breath, "For his sake."

We made our way back to my bedroom, where we found the light still on. I closed my door as quietly as I could, but it squeaked and shook the doorframe all the same.

When I sighed and turned around, Cosima was standing in front of my bed, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her feet already bare. Scared and confused, she bit at her lip.

"Here," I said, walking to my chest of drawers. "You can sleep in this."

I pulled out a nightgown and handed it to her. She seemed surprised, but she clutched it close to her chest.

"Merci," she said.

We changed with our backs to each other; it seemed like the polite thing to do, though I'd never been so shy with any of my other friends.

Then we stood over the bed that we had made on the floor. I remembered the painful tingling in my arm and the ache in my bones.

"Let's try the bed first," I said.

I climbed under the covers, laying as unnatural as unnatural can be, stiff on my back with my arms at my side, just as a mummy might lay in a sarcophagus.

She slipped under the covers next to me, and for several uncomfortable moments, we laid like statues, silent and stiff; I think I barely breathed.

The room was so quiet, I could hear her blinking. I took a deep breath and turned onto my side, facing her in the dark.

"Can't sleep?" she said.

"How can I?"

"Me, too. What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about all the ways I'm going to kill Laurent."

"Let's just hope it's Laurent who has it," she said.

The thought made me sick to my stomach.

 _If not Laurent, then who?_ I thought. _My father? Why wouldn't he say anything? Monsieur Lumiere? He had no reason to be poking around in our barn. Ethan? I don't like that guy, but even he would have no reason to go near the plane._

"No, it must be Laurent," I said. "It has to be!"

Just then, Cosima rolled away from me, laying on her side with her back to me, and for a moment, I thought I had said something to upset her.

But then, she reached back, grabbing my hand, and she pulled my arm around her, holding me there, pressed up against her back, my thighs against her thighs, my chest against her spine, and my face nuzzled into the messy braid of her hair.

"There's nothing we can do right now," she said as she squeezed my hand. "Except sleep."

And we did sleep, like two cats curled around each other. And I didn't kick. In fact, I think I didn't move at all, so exhausted from the day's events, and so happy to have Cosima next to me, I think I fell right to sleep — deeply, completely — and my dreams were filled with bonfires, stars and smoke.

But in the morning, when I was on the verge of waking, I dreamed of other things; the smoke in my dreams smelled less like nostalgia and more like fear. And the flames were not quaint and controlled, but large — threateningly large; they surrounded me. And in the distance I heard sounds like great explosions, but when I asked "What's that sound?" the explosions transformed, all the bass and boom melting away like an ice pop melts away from an ice pop stick; yes, all the bass melted away and all that was left was a thin tapping sound, like the tapping of keys on a typewriter — _Tap! Tap! Tap!_

I awoke with a start.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Someone was knocking on the bedroom door.

"Delphine," my mother called. "Breakfast is ready."

I sat up and rubbed at my eyes, saying nothing because my head was still in a fog of dream smoke and dream sounds.

"Delphine? It's getting late. You don't want to keep your guest waiting."

 _My guest?_ I thought.

I noticed the second pillow next to me. I noticed the used nightgown, folded up neatly and set at the foot of the bed.

 _Of course!_ I thought. _Cosima..._

"I'm awake!" I said. "I'm awake! I'll be down in a minute."

I stood up, standing right in the middle of my room, recalling the previous night in all its delicious details, smiling to myself at first, but then frowning because I was certain there was something I was forgetting.

Even as I changed my clothes, choosing my Sunday dress because it was the only thing even remotely appropriate for a trip to the theatre; even as I stood in front of the bathroom sink, washing my face and tying up my hair; even as I passed Laurent's open door, I still could not place my finger on the thing I was missing, though I knew it was of the greatest importance.

I scratched my head as I walked into the kitchen, and when I looked up — when I saw Laurent and Cosima sitting together at the table — a fury rose up in my throat, and all at once I remembered the dark barn, the empty compartment, the missing cipher machine.

I was ready to shout, but Cosima was wearing one of my dresses, a faded pink cotton dress, and when she looked up at me she smiled, and the pink dress brought out the lightness in her eyes.

I caught my breath.

Laurent smiled, too — a casually charming smile, not the smile of a thief — and I was so confused by it that I caught my own tongue.

"Bonjour, Delphine," Laurent said. "We've been waiting for you. You're going to make us late!"

"Late?" I said. "Late for what?"

"For the matinee!" he said. "I've checked the papers and there is a Tuesday matinee showing of _Ondine_."

"Wait a minute," I said. "Don't you have to help father today? Ethan doesn't work on Tuesdays."

"Lucky for us, mother pulled some strings and father gave me the day off!"

My mother set out a basket of rolls, a tray of butter, a bowl of boiled eggs, and another bowl of freshly cut fruit.

"What?" I said.

"It's not every day a young man gets invited to the theater," my mother said. "Especially by such a lovely young woman."

Cosima blushed, Laurent gloated and I rolled my eyes.

 _This is not what I had in mind!_ I thought.

But then I felt a tap on my toe. I looked up to see Cosima smile and shrug her shoulders.

"It will be fun," she insisted.

"Well, three people can't fit on the motorcycle."

"You two take the bus," Laurent said. "I can ride along behind."

"You don't have to do that," Cosima said.

"Oh, but I want to!" Laurent said. "I've been wanting to get my hands on that thing since the first time I saw it."

 _I bet you have,_ I thought.

He grabbed a roll, cut it in half and slathered on a heap of butter. Cosima reached for an egg, cracking it against the side of her plate. I didn't reach for anything, but sat like a bump on a log — a confused bump.

"Besides," Laurent added with his mouth full, "I can carry your suitcase in the sidecar, so you won't have to worry about that, either."

When he said _suitcase_ he glanced at Cosima, and then she glanced at me, smiling awkwardly.

"Exactly," she said before stuffing the egg into her mouth and looking away.

"Fine," I said in a manner that most definitely let everyone at the table know that I was anything but.

"Delphine," my mother said. "Don't be rude."

"Non," I said. "I'm fine. Really."

"Then eat your breakfast and be grateful," she said.

"Of course," I said. "Of course, I'm grateful."

 _Grateful and confused,_ I thought. _What secret agreement had they come to while I was still sleeping? And why was Laurent smiling like a fox in a hen house instead of cowering like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar?_


	16. Chapter 16

We left my mother at the bus stop with a wave and two kisses on the cheek, and then we were off toward Strasbourg, Cosima and I sitting in the back seat of the bus and Laurent following behind, the suitcase bouncing along in the sidecar next to him.

I leaned over the back of the seat, keeping one eye on Laurent, somehow suspicious that he had plans to veer off the road when we weren't looking. But he didn't. He just smiled from behind Cosima's goggles and waved.

I waved back.

"Alright," I said to Cosima. "What is going on?"

"We're going to the Tuesday matinee," she said.

"You know what I mean… Why is Laurent coming _with_ us? And why doesn't he have a black eye? And why is he so giddy?"

"Maybe he just likes the theatre," she said.

"Cosima!" I said loud enough to attract the attention of the other passengers.

"Fine, fine," she said. "Let's just say, when I woke up this morning, Laurent and I had a civilized conversation, and, well, we came to an agreement."

"Clearly, I can see that much!"

"And...he wanted to come to Strasbourg, so I said he could."

"That's it? Wasn't he curious about the machine in the plane? Didn't he ask any questions about it?"

"Yes, of course."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I told him the truth, just like I told you."

"The truth, as in, the Germans are planning an invasion of Poland? As in, your father is a spy, and you, by extension, are also a spy?"

"Yes."

"And he believed you?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't he?"

"Then why is he so happy?"

"Well, I don't know if he is happy about that part, necessarily," she said, and finally I heard a hint of irritation in her voice. "But he was certainly eager to use his newly gained knowledge as leverage."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He promised to keep my secret, _our_ secret, if we let him come along… and…"

"And?"

"And, if I agreed to make an emergency phone call to a certain mechanic asking him to fly into Strasbourg tonight."

"You're joking!"

"No, I'm not."

I turned around in my seat. I pounded on the window and Laurent waved again. I pointed at him, then I dragged my finger across my neck in a cut-throat gesture that he was sure to understand. He laughed again, raising his gloved hand to his ear, as if he was straining to hear me. I pounded the window again, then sat back down in a huff.

When I turned around, more passengers were watching me, disapproving expressions on their faces.

"I'm gonna kill him!" I mumbled. "God! Is that the only thing he thinks about?!"

"Relax," Cosima said. "All's well that ends well, right?"

"But we haven't gotten to the end yet," I said. "Is he coming with us to meet your contact person, or whoever it is? I thought it was best to keep people out of it?"

"Well," she said. "About that… he kind of already guessed it."

"Guessed what?"

"Who my contact is," she whispered.

I felt like she had slapped me in the face. I didn't really understand what she was saying.

"But how?"

"Because he already knows her."

"He knows _her_?" I repeated.

"Yes, and so do you," she said. "Though you most certainly didn't know that she was the one I was meeting that night."

"That night?"

"At Le Petit Chiot… Why do you think Laurent goes there so often?"

My mind reached back to that night, the night of the first day we met, the night she walked into Le Petit Chiot, obviously looking for someone, and the way her eyes lit up when she saw me — was it me she was looking at? I remember the way she whispered something into Felix's ear, and then walked straight toward my table. I remember the way she smiled and exclaimed _a statistical improbability!_

And that had been explanation enough for me; I had never thought to ask why she was there in the first place.

"Because he likes boys," I said. "He goes there because he likes boys."

I heard Madame Bijou's voice, raspy and thick with cognac, _Is he your beau? You're here every week...so you like the girls?_

"There's no doubt about that," Cosima said. "But in light of our conversation this morning, I have a feeling Laurent had other motives for hanging out at Le Chiot."

But even as Cosima spoke, the memories of that night flashed in my mind; she entered the room, everyone stared, she spotted me at the table, she walked my way, a statistical improbability, a laugh beside me, a sparkle of sequins, a raised glass, an emphatic declaration — _Americans! How wonderful! I love Americans!_

And then it hit me; all at once I knew!

I looked into Cosima's expectant eyes. She smiled and reached for my hand. She nodded her head, as if she already knew that I already knew.

"Madame Bijou!" I said. "It's Madame Bijou!"


	17. Chapter 17

_It's Madame Bijou!_ I thought over and over again.

I thought about it on the bus. I thought about in the lobby of Cosima's hotel, Le Hotel Au Pont des Vosges. I thought about it in the dressing room of the department store; though which store it was, I couldn't say.

 _Is everyone hiding something?_ I thought. _Every single one! Even Laurent! What could he possibly be doing at Le Petite Chiot every night? And right under my nose?_

I thought about it even as I stared at my own reflection, hardly recognizing myself in the new dress. It sparkled like nothing I'd ever worn before, like the dresses the actresses wore in those Hollywood red carpet reels.

_And me? In this dress? What am I hiding now?_

I thought about it as I slipped on a new pair of shoes. They sparkled, too, and I was sure that this was all some strange dream I was having, that I had not actually woken up this morning at all.

Because… though everything sparkled — including Cosima's smile, including Laurent's eyes — everything was simultaneously strange, uncanny, and foreboding. I looked at my reflection and wondered if I was looking into a _doppelgänger_ land; a land filled with people just like me, just like Cosima, just like Laurent, except that in that world — the world on the other side of the mirror — no one was elusive, no one had secrets, no one told half-truths or hid in half-shadows; everyone was plain, solid, and simple; everyone had simple motives and simple desires.

 _I used to think I was simple,_ I thought.

I touched my own waist. I think I'd never truly seen my own waste until that day.

"Don't you think it's a bit tight?" I asked.

"No, no," Cosima said. "You look wonderful!"

"And if we put your hair up," Laurent added, "you will look absolutely stunning!"

I glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He stood behind me, already dressed in a navy suit, the front double-breasted and the shoulders crisp; it had the slightest hint of a pin-stripe that seemed to bring out his blue eyes.

He smiled at me, and his smile was so sweet that for a moment, I wanted to reach into the mirror, hug him and ask him to stay young forever.

Then I looked at Cosima's reflection; my thoughts on her were more basic.

I justed wanted her to —

 _Stay_.

"We'd better go," she said. "The theatre waits for no man."

She wrote a check. I noticed the way she signed her name, the way the "C" in Cosima looked more like an "O" and the "N" in Niehaus looked more like and "M." I noticed that the letters all leaned forward; she wrote them so fast that they looked like they might fall over, each progressive letter leaning further than the last, each stumbling under the speed of it's own momentum.

 _Like me,_ I thought. _Stumbling._

Then she handed the check to the shopgirl and we were out the door. Laurent hailed a taxi, offering to pay the fare to the theatre.

"You don't have to do that," Cosima said.

"It's my pleasure," Laurent said. "And I'm buying drinks at Le Chiot tonight! I don't want to hear any arguments about it!"

"Fine by me," Cosima said. "Fine by me."

We arrived just minutes before the curtain was drawn. Our seats were in the back of the second balcony, high above the stage and in the corner. Cosima frowned at the view, but I didn't mind; I had nothing to compare it to.

And to be honest, I felt comfortable there, removed from the action of the play. Because, though it was about another place and another time, the premise felt uncomfortably close to the stirrings in my heart.

I watched from a distance, feeling both detached and immersed. I watched as Ondine, the water-sprite, appeared on stage. I watched as Hans, the knight-errant, spotted her in the fisherman's hut. I watched and I knew; he would love her and it would ruin him.

When they kissed, I glanced at Cosima, at her red cheeks. And when the King of the Sea warned Ondine, "This man will deceive you. He will abandon you," I glanced at Cosima again.

She leaned forward in her seat, her eyes focused and her mouth hanging open slightly, and when Ondine declared her love for Hans, she smiled and clapped, turning to me with a glint of hope in her eyes.

She reached for my hand, squeezing it in the dark.

I squeezed back and I felt hopeful, too. I hoped that everything would work out, that they would somehow escape their fate, escape the repercussions of their folly; their simple, beautiful folly — falling in love with someone from another world.

Cosima held my hand until the house lights came up, signalling the intermission. Laurent stepped out for a cigarette, and soon, we were alone.

From where we were, at the very top of the highest balcony, we saw right down into the orchestra pit. The players continued on, as vigilant as ever, their foreheads glistening under the bright lights.

"What do you think?" Cosima said.

"It's magnificent!" I said. "No, it's…"

"It's what?"

"It's… too much."

"I wish it was more."

Her voice was soft and her skin was soft; her head turned down and her neck long.

"Cosima…" I said, but I stalled.

When our eyes met, I shook my head nervously.

"Nevermind."

"What?" she said, squeezing my hand.

"It's just…"

 _Please, don't keep any more secrets from me,_ I thought.

She waited and watched me, her eyes moving over my face in darting motions.

"It's just…"

 _Please, don't abandon me!_ I thought. _Please, don't forget me!_

No, to say I _thought_ the words is an understatement. I screamed the words in my own mind. I pleaded with her — begged and pleaded with her — ached for some sort of satisfactory resolution that I knew would never come.

"I know," she said. "It's hot in here! It's overwhelming."

She fanned herself with her programme pamphlet.

"Yes, exactly," I said, sighing.

"But what can we do? Sitting in the second balcony… we might as well be sitting in an oven. Should I bring some refreshments?"

She made to stand up, but I held her still.

"Non," I said. "Don't go. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look a little flushed."

She touched my head.

She was right; in comparison to her cool fingers, my face was burning up.

I leaned my cheek into the palm of her hand. She smiled, stroking her fingertips against my temple; this time, her eyes did not dart, but remained steadfast and fixed on mine.

The orchestra played on; a single viola and a single oboe played a soft, sad duet.

"We're from different worlds, aren't we?" I whispered.

She brought her face closer to mine.

"Not so different, I should think."

Just then the house lights flickered on and off. Cosima pulled her hand away, shifting her weight back into her chair and exhaling. The orchestra swelled into a triumphant cadence, and the other patrons hurried back to their seats, Laurent among them.

From the moment the lights dimmed until the moment the curtain fell, Cosima held my hand.

And when Ondine delivered her final line — the great heartwrencher! — when she looked down at Hans' dead body; when she looked upon his face and mused, "Who is this handsome young man? Can you bring him back to life?" only to be told that no, it was impossible; when she turned to the audience and cried out "What a pity! How I should have loved him!" — even then, we held hands, grasping even tighter than before.

Upon those last tragic words, the audience leapt from their seats, rising to a standing ovation. But not us, we sat in our dark corner, eyes turned toward each other, fingers interlaced, and foreheads so close, we were nearly touching.

And though I felt her breath hot against my own lip, we said nothing. Nothing we could have said would be heard anyway, the crowd was in such an uproar.

I wanted more than anything to kiss her.

 _What a pity!_ I thought.

Because when I looked into her eyes, I saw all the colors of a field of sunflowers; I saw blossoms, leaves, stems, and earth; I saw seasons, I saw storms; I saw distant futures that would never be. I knew it was all imaginary but I could not look away.

She looked back at me, and I could not help but wonder what she found so captivating in my own eyes. She smiled suddenly and squeezed my hand so tight.

"Besides...there is only one world, after all!" she shouted over the din of the crowd.

"What?"

"There is only one world — one Earth! And it's not as big as you might think! The English Channel is only twenty-five miles wide!"

"Miles? What about kilometers?"

"Okay, okay," she said. "I guess our worlds are a little different...un peu."

"Oui! Seulement un peu."

"Un peu…" she repeated, the sound so soft and so sweet — sweeter than the sweetest pluck of a harp string.

I laughed and touched her face.

We stood up then, leaning against each other. I clapped with the rest of the audience, because Cosima's words had finally given me something to cheer about.

Laurent turned to us.

"Ladies?" he said with a wink. "Now, who's ready to dance?"


	18. Chapter 18

We stopped by Le Hotel Au Pont des Vosges to pick up the suitcase.

Laurent and I stayed in the taxi while Cosima ran up to her room, and for the first time that day, we were alone. I had so many questions I'd been meaning to ask that I didn't know where to start, so I started with the one that had been gnawing on me all day.

"So, you know Madame Bijou," I said.

"Yes, and you know her, too."

"But not like you know her."

"Well, I wouldn't say I know her very well, but I know _about_ her."

"Then how did you guess? How did you know Cosima was meeting her?"

"Well, people talk."

"What people?"

"Just people."

"Laurent."

"People at Le Chiot. The group of us… we all talk."

"Talk about what? I never heard you say more than a single word about her before. She sits in the back of the bar and drinks cognac. No one ever talks to her, except me!"

"We don't have to talk to her… let's just say… she's an excellent listener."

"God, just speak clearly."

"Look," Laurent said. "Madame Bijou is not just a regular at Le Chiot, alright? She owns the place. She owns the whole building. Hell, for all I know, she owns half of the German district."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm not. And she owns a lot of her customers, too."

"What do you mean, owns them?"

"You know, she helps people out when they're in trouble, and they help her out in return. It's an honor thing."

"You make her sound like an American gangster."

"No, it's not like that. No one's fingers are getting cut off."

"Merci! That makes me feel a lot better!"

"Look, Madame Bijou's currency is information. She knows the best real estate, she knows the best employers, she knows the friendliest banks. Like I said, she's a good listener. She has ears all over Strasbourg, and she uses it to her advantage ― to all of our advantages."

"And you?" I asked.

"What about me?"

"Do you owe her anything?"

"No, I've never asked any favors from her, and she's never asked any favors from me. At least, not yet."

"This doesn't sound so good," I said. "Non, non, non… it sounds dirty."

"Look, it's not a big deal. She keeps the cops away from Le Petite Chiot, and we supply her with a fresh stream of gossip. After all, if there's anything fairies are good at, it's gossiping, right?"

"That's why you always want to talk to these Germans? That's why you always bring me along to translate for you?"

"Exactly, Bijou has been extra curious about Germany these days. But who hasn't been?"

"And the cipher machine, do you know what it is? What it's for?"

"I can guess. I mean, I've heard about such a machine before, but I'd never seen one."

"You've heard of it?"

"Yes, it's an Enigma machine… an encryption machine; it's _the_ most advanced encryption system ever devised… some say it's unbreakable."

"Enigma?" I repeated the word to myself.

"Yes, business men use it to hide trade secrets, you know, when they have to send sensitive information between offices. But think about the military applications. Think about it, Delphine."

I was thinking about it. But more importantly, I was thinking about how such a thing got into a secret compartment in that plane.

"Anyway," Laurent went on, "as soon as I saw it, I knew whose hands it should be in."

"So, you're just doing this to score points with her... with Madame Bijou?"

"And why shouldn't I?"

"Don't you think it's better to stay out of it?"

"Well, well, Delphine Cormier, aren't you the pot calling the kettle black?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"I came along because…"

He waited.

"I came along because, Cosima made it seem like we were all in danger. I wanted to know if she was right. I wanted to meet the person who might know."

"I want the same thing," Laurent said. "And I want to give her something to remember me by, so if we ever are in danger... well… "

 _Good old, sneaky Laurent,_ I thought. _Always one step ahead._

I was both relieved and upset.

"And _do_ _you_ think we are in danger?"

"I can't say for sure. I mean, what do I know, anyway?"

"What about the Maginot Line?"

"It's a glorified wall," Laurent scoffed.

"Father seems pretty sure about it."

"Think about the concept of a wall, Delphine. Think about what it really is; a line not meant to be crossed, but lines get crossed every day. Think about Cosima and Felix."

"What about them?"

"Would a wall keep them out of France?"

I heard the distant rumble of an engine in my mind; I saw the silhouette of Cosima's plane in the sky, they day that she crashed into my life.

"No," I said. "But I thought the Germans weren't allowed to build an air force."

"Wow, I'm impressed. Where did you hear that?"

"Don't patronize me. I have eyes and ears."

"Either way, regardless of what he is or isn't allowed to do Hitler has built himself quite a nice little Luftwaffe. If it comes to war, I doubt any wall will keep them out for long, not completely, anyway. How could it?"

"You seem pretty sure," I said.

"I just call them like I see them," he said.

Just then, I caught sight of Cosima pushing open the front door of the hotel. For a moment, I didn't recognize her. She had changed into a suit, crisper and more chic than Laurent's; her hair slicked back, her eyes lined with a smoky eyeshadow; a gray fedora on her head.

She paused on the steps.

Oh! How I stared!

"Is that her? All dressed up like a tomcat?" Laurent asked.

He leaned over me to get a better look.

"Oui," I whispered.

She straightened her necktie with both hands, adjusted the fedora and shrugged her shoulders. Then she picked up the suitcase, opened the front door and sat down next to the taxi driver.

"You look smashing!" Laurent exclaimed, smacking his own knee. "The real Cat's Meow!"

"If you think I look good, wait until you see my date," she said — her voice so cool it gave me chills.


	19. Chapter 19

For a few moments, I thought she had been talking about me. Afterall, she opened the door for me when we arrived at Le Chiot. She extended her elbow for me to hold as we walked up the steps.

But then she smiled and slipped the suitcase into my hand.

"You do the honors," she said.

"What? I can't," I stuttered.

I looked down, horrified to be holding the Enigma Machine, as Laurent had called it.

"You said you wanted to meet her. You said you wanted to talk to someone with answers."

"But, I can't. I mean, you should do it."

"I can't do it."

"Why not?"

"I told you, I have a hot date," she said, glancing at Laurent.

"Then Laurent should do it. He's a much better talker than me."

"She wants to talk to you," Cosima said. "Besides, I've got a feeling Laurent will be more than occupied."

She reached for the door, just like she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"After you, Mademoiselle" Laurent said.

"I can't believe this," I mumbled.

Le Chiot was just like we had left it, filled with smoke, music and laughter. The crowd was thinner, sure, but it was a Tuesday night.

When we stepped into the room, everyone glanced in our direction in a half-interested sort of way. And though the pianist plucked happily away at the keys, not a soul was dancing, leaving the middle of the room unusually empty.

I met eyes with Madame Bijou.

She sat in her usual spot, holding a glass of cognac in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She raised her glass at me and nodded.

I nodded back, smiling to hide my discomfort.

"Well, go on," Cosima said with a nudge.

"Come with me."

"I can't," she said, looking toward the piano. "I've got to distract Felix."

"Felix?"

I followed Cosima's line of sight. I noticed a fairy boy standing by the piano with her back to us. She ran a long, elegant finger down the length of the piano player's arm as she tapped her toe to the happy beat.

"Is that?" I said. "Non!"

"Oui!" she replied. "My date!"

Cosima adjusted her tie one more time, then leaned close to me. She spoke fast and low.

"I'm serious," she said. "Get that suitcase to Bijou as nonchalant as possible, then join us at the bar. I don't want Felix asking any questions."

"Okay," I said, but she was already gone.

I moved toward my usual table and sat down, setting the suitcase on the floor between my bench and Bijou's. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table.

"Bonsoir," Bijou said.

"Bonsoir," I said.

"I see you came back."

"Yes. I'm with my brother again."

"And your girl… your _American_ girl."

"Yes," I said. "And my… friend."

I watched Cosima approach Felix. I watched her surprise him, wrapping her arm around his waist and whispering something into his ear. He looked in my direction, and upon seeing me, waved.

"Très belle!" Madame Bijou said with a laugh. "She's a natural!"

"Oui," I said, but I wasn't sure if she was talking about Felix in his gown, or about Cosima in her suit. "Oui, très belle."

We were quiet.

"Ehm… I brought something that might interest you."

I glanced at the suitcase between us. She looked down, too, more slowly, more deliberate.

"Do you know what it is?" she asked me.

"Oui. I think so."

"Do you know how to use it?"

"Non."

"Do you want to learn?"

"Me? I… I… I don't think… "

"You speak German, don't you?"

"Only a little bit, not really."

"And English, I can see you speak English very well."

"Non, non, not really."

Madame Bijou smiled, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray on her knee.

"Ehm," I stuttered, "I have to go meet with my friends now… over there."

"Okay," she said, shrugging her shoulder.

But when I stood up, she grabbed my hand. Her skin was surprisingly soft and warm. She smiled up at me.

"If you ever need anything…" she said. "You find Bijou."

Then she winked a wrinkled eye, released my hand, and leaned back into her seat.

"Oui, merci," I said.

I walked away on shaking legs. There was sweat behind my knees and under my arms. My heart was racing, and my mind was racing; racing with a million questions that I should have asked.

Questions like: _Who are you? What do you want? Are the Germans as close to war as people say?_

_Are you afraid?_

I cursed myself for the missed opportunity.

When I reached Cosima at the bar and turned back, the suitcase was flipped on it's face, laying in the shadows beneath Madame Bijou's bench. If you didn't know what to look for, you wouldn't even notice it was there — much like Bijou, herself.

"Is it done?" Cosima whispered into my ear.

"Oui," I said.

"Good," she said. "Because it feels like I've been waiting forever for that second dance."


	20. Chapter 20

We did dance.

We danced and we drank — the four of us — and we were in such high spirits on that quiet Tuesday night, that we drew the attention of the other patrons. Some smiled and others scowled. Some laughed and others scoffed. But as for our little party, we tried our best to not have a care in the world.

We tried.

I didn't completely forget the suitcase, nor did I completely relax under Bijou's constant gaze, but once I had turned my attentions toward Cosima, I resolved to focus on her and her only.

She led me into the middle of the room, and she pulled me close; much closer than she had the night we first met. And when our chests touched, I could not help but remember the night before, when I had felt the full weight of her over me, when I had looked past the shadow of her face and seen the stars.

I blushed.

She held me differently, too. Her embrace was stronger and her chin was held up high. She spun me so fast that it made me dizzy. I laughed.

"So," she said, "What do you think of my outfit?"

"I have to admit," I said, "when you walked out of the hotel…"

I sighed.

"That good, huh? I'll have to wear a tie more often."

"But why did you? What made you decide to change?"

"It's a long story," she said.

She glanced at Felix and Laurent. They were dancing, too, though more like strangers and less like lovers.

 _And us...?_ I thought. _Do we dance like lovers?_

"I have a feeling it wasn't just for my benefit," I said.

"Alright, alright," she said. "It was the only way to convince Felix to fly up here."

"I didn't know Felix was fond of women in ties."

"He's not, but he's really into himself… in that dress, that is."

She said it loud enough for Felix to hear.

"You're just jealous because I look better in heels than you do!" he replied.

"Anyway," Cosima said. "He said he couldn't do it alone... dress up, I mean. He said he needed me to do it with him."

"He looks pretty confident to me."

"Yes, well, appearances aren't everything. He's really quite fragile, actually."

When she said it, her voice was gentle and soft.

I glanced at Laurent. There was something in his smile, a hidden sadness that I recognized as my own.

"I know what you mean," I said.

"Anyway, I'd rather spend my time talking about you instead of him. Tell me about your friends."

"My friends?"

"You must be very popular."

"Not really."

"Not one friend? Not even a best friend?"

"You mean, from school?"

"Yeah."

"I have school friends, sure, but I don't really… I mean… my family are my friends, I guess."

"That must be nice."

"Laurent is my best friend," I said quietly. "But I'll never tell him that."

"You're secret is safe with me."

"And you…" I started to say. "And you…"

Her eyes lit up when I said the words. She smiled.

"And me?"

"I don't think _friend_ is the right word for you."

"Then what is the right word?"

"You're my…"

 _My kindred spirit?_ I thought. _My lover? Mon maîtresse?_

"My dandelion," I said.

She laughed.

"What?"

"My father told me something my grandfather used to say. He told me that there are two types of people in the world; rocks and leaves."

"Okay…."

"But you… I don't think you're either one. I think you're a little dandelion seed that floats on the breeze, lighter than a feather and more delicate… precious because you're so… fleeting."

I could barely say the last word. It got caught in my throat. She pressed closer to me and laid her head on my shoulder. I felt her breath as she sighed.

We were quiet for a moment before she looked up, her face very close to mine, her eyes peering out from beneath the brim of that Fedora.

"Delphine," she said. "It's true. I've lived my life exactly as you say, just like a dandelion, dropping in and out of cities and countries, learning languages, taking photographs, drawing maps… but always an observer… never connected to anyone… well, except Felix."

"I know," I said.

"But my point is, since I've come here, since I've met you…"

She paused.

"I don't think I can float anymore. I think something inside of me has taken root… something inside my…"

She squeezed my hand harder, pulling our fists to her chest and letting them rest there as we danced quietly.

"Je sais," I whispered. "Dans votre cœur…"

She hugged me, leaning up to press her cheek against my cheek.

"Will you write to me?" I said. "Please promise you will write."

"I'll write to you every day. I'll send so many letters that the postman will dread seeing your name on the envelope!"

"And I will have one waiting for him in return."

"Deal," she said, trying to keep her voice lighthearted. "And then, when all of this tension passes, when things are calm again, I'll come back."

"Deal," I said.

"So, don't go falling in love with some other girl!"

She said it like a joke, my hand still held close to her chest. She said it and she laughed, and for a moment I laughed with her.

But only for a moment, because soon the meaning of her words had me flushed red, hot from head to toe — embarrassed and nauseous. I shook my head and looked away.

"I couldn't…" I whispered.

 _So this is it, then?_ I thought. _We are it? We are… in love?_

The room was spinning. My heart was swelling. The pianist was playing. Laurent was laughing. Felix was twirling.

And Cosima, she was glowing — her chin turned up, her brows raised in a hopeful arc, her eyes scared but smiling even as her lips parted. She pulled me close.

The room was spinning, and then, I fell into her kiss.

I fell into her kiss — like the sun falls into the sea — slowly, inevitably, and with a calm certainty.

And then, three things happened in rapid succession; an interruption, an announcement, and the appearance of two pushy police officers at Le Chiot.

First, the door of Le Chiot swung open, the sound so loud, everyone flinched.

I looked up, my lips still wet, my mouth still open, my face on fire.

A man barged into the room, shouting, " _Changer! Changer!"_ And by the time the door had slammed shut behind him, Laurent had already grabbed me by the arm, twirled me aggressively away from Cosima while simultaneously pushing her into Felix's arms.

"What are you doing?!" I shouted.

"The police are coming. Just follow my lead," he said.

He pulled my head onto his shoulder, and held me close, clutching my hand to his chest the same way Cosima had done.

All around us, other couples were also changing places, rearranging themselves into one-man, one-woman pairs. And still others had moved off, settling as nonchalantly as they could on barstools and benches.

When the door opened a second time, two police officers stepped into Le Chiot, their hands on their hips and their hats pulled tightly down over their brows. The first officer, the one with the bushy, salt-and-pepper moustache stepped forward.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" he called, his voice brusk with a forced confidence.

The pianist stopped playing. The dancers stopped dancing. The room stopped spinning; all in one sudden jolt.

"We've received complaints this evening of unruly behavior," he continued.

At that, Madame Bijou stood up. The officer, noticing her, tipped his hat and took a step backward.

"Madame," he said.

"There must be some mistake, Officer Dupin," she said, puffing on her cigarette. "As you can see, we only have the piano for accompaniment tonight, not even our usual house band."

"Look, these complaints have been building up over the past few weeks. Your neighbors' patience is wearing thin."

"Well, we wouldn't want to upset the neighborhood, would we? Thank you for passing along the information, Officer. We'll be sure to keep it in mind."

The moustached officer fidgeted with the baton at his belt.

"There have also been rumors that you're selling alcohol to underaged patrons."

"Rumors?"

"That's right."

"I hope for your sake, you have more than rumors if you intend to search my establishment."

"Now, don't get your cause and effect mixed up. We came here about the noise complaint, and now that we're here… I think we have good enough reason to search the place."

He looked right at Cosima and Felix. They stood in a semi-embrace; Felix with his hand on Cosima's padded shoulder, and Cosima with her hand on Felix's exposed back.

"You!" he said with a flick of his chin. "How old are you?"

The question was meant for Felix, but Cosima did the answering.

"Old enough to buy my own drink, if that's what you're asking," she said.

"Is that so? Let's see some identification."

"Non," she said.

"What did you say?"

"I don't have to show you identification because it's irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?"

"Oui. I haven't had a single drink tonight, nor have any of my friends, though I assure you if we did, we wouldn't be breaking any laws."

He took a step toward her, his grip tightening on his baton.

"It's true," Laurent said. "We just come here for the dancing."

The officer turned his eye to Laurent.

"The dancing, huh?"

"That's right."

"Regardless of what you came here for, I still need to see some identification. Show it or leave the premises immediately."

Laurent reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. Before he even had a chance to show his identification, the officer had moved back to Felix.

"And what about you, ehm… Mademoiselle?" he said. "Do you have identification?"

"Officer, have a look for yourself! Where would I keep it?" Felix said, raising his arms and presenting his lovely dress.

"Right, of course," the officer said.

Then he added under his breath, "Fucking fairy!"

"That's enough!" Madame Bijou said, her voice just a thread away from a scream.

The room shook silent.

"I will not have you harrassing my patrons," she said. "You've conducted your search and now I think it would be wise for you to take your leave. It would be a shame if there were any more _disturbances_ tonight in _my_ neighborhood. I'm sure you're supervisor would agree with me."

Officer Dupin scowled and squinted before backing away. He stopped at the door, one hand on the door knob and the other hand on his baton.

"Just keep it down, Bijou. This is your last warning."

"Oh, we will," she said. "Not even a _peep_ from us."

But it was a lie.

Not a few minutes after the door had shut behind them, the dancers had returned to their rightful partners, Bijou had returned to her bench, and I had returned to Cosima's arms.

"That was a stupid lie!" I said. "You could have gotten arrested!"

"But I wasn't," she said.

"Yes, but…"

"Look, I couldn't show my passport even if I had it on me. I don't have the correct entry stamps."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we kind of bypassed the immigration protocol when we entered France."

"You're here illegally?"

"Keep your voice down. You know our reasons. Anyway, those cops were all bark and no bite. I figured it was better to bluff."

"Wow," I said.

"Besides, did you really think Bijou was going to let anything happen to us?"

"I don't know," I said. "I don't know her very well."

"She's got those cops tied up," she said. "Or, at least she has their boss. They just came here to wave their batons around a bit, make some noise, show off...you know. We've got nothing to worry about."

But I looked at Madame Bijou, sitting alone at the bench, her thumb rubbing against the glass of cognac. She leaned forward, no cigarette in her hand and a distant look in her eyes. Her ankles were crossed and pressed beneath the bench and that's when I remembered the suitcase.

In my dancing I had almost succeeded in forgetting it.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't know."

Just then Madame Bijou raised her hand, calling the bartender's attention. He walked to her table and leaned close to her as she spoke into his ear. Then, smiling, he returned to the bar, pulled down his best bottle of cognac, and lined up several glasses on the counter.

"Attention! Attention!" he called as he tapped a spoon against a glass.

_Ting! Ting! Ting!_

"Attention!"

For the second time that night, the room fell silent.

"Madame Bijou would like to apologize for the rude interruption. She would like to invite all of her guests to join her in a toast."

People moved to the bar, myself included, and when we each had our glass in hand, Bijou stood once more.

"Bonsoir, ladies and gentlemen," she said. "And yes, you too, our underaged patrons. Yes, you young people, please grab a glass, for this a gift from me to you, and therefore we are breaking no laws."

We all cheered at that.

"As you have heard, our behavior has been construed as unruly by some in the neighborhood, but when I look at all you dancers, all I can see are cheerful hearts, and who can blame a cheerful heart for finding a little peace when the rest of the world can be so grim?"

We cheered again.

"I have lived a long time," she continued. "I have been lucky enough to love two great men, and sadly they are both gone, but I still have music, I still have dancing, and I still have cognac!"

We cheered again and Laurent whistled.

"They call us unruly; I call us alive!" she said. "They call us indecent; I call us passionate!

And life and passion are two things that I will always celebrate! So please join me in a toast. If they want to call us unruly, then let's give them unruly! Bottoms up!"

We all drank to that with smiles and cheers and pats on the back, and when the first round of glasses was empty, another appeared on the bar with no questions asked.

And when the music started up again, the pianist was accompanied by an accordionist, a contra-bassist, and a vocalist, all of whom seemed to have materialized out of thin air.

And when Cosima and I returned to the dance floor, we found it more crowded, the patronage in the place had seemingly doubled — no, tripled — in the span of half an hour.

By the minute, we became drunker, louder, happier, more vibrant and less afraid of consequences.

Bijou herself leaned back in her bench, a wry smile on her face and a cigarette at her lips. She shrugged her shoulders in time to the music and watched us. She called the bartender once more, and had Cosima not spun me at that exact moment, I would have missed it; it was the exact moment that the bartender reached beneath Bijou's bench, picked up the suitcase and then made his way through the gauntlet of rowdy dancers, casually dodging kicking heels, twirling skirts and jiving arms. He disappeared into a room behind the bar, and that was the last I saw of the suitcase.

When I smiled at Bijou, she raised her eyebrows in response, giving me another wink as she puffed at her cigarette. And maybe it was me — maybe it was an error in my own drunk and blurred vision — but I thought I saw her hand tremble.


	21. Chapter 21

Bijou wasn't the only one to tremble that night.

It didn't take long for the crowd to really get riled up. I had no idea where they all came from, but the bodies continued to file into the door; more and more of them, young and old, rich and poor, men and women. I'd never seen such an assortment of types all pressed together, rubbing elbows on the dancefloor, united in the single-minded drive to be unruly.

As more dancers stepped onto the floor, Cosima and I were pushed further and further to the edges. And not that we minded. No one paid much attention to us as we spun in slow circles. No one paid attention as we stole kisses.

I thought the kisses would satiate me but instead they aroused an ever growing desire.

"Let's go somewhere else," I said, surprising us both. "It's too crowded here."

"Where?" she said. "I'm in a suit and Felix is in a dress."

"No, I mean somewhere quiet. Let's go back to the hotel."

She squeezed me and considered the thought.

"I'd love to, but I don't think the rest of our party will want to leave. It's still early. The last bus isn't for another hour."

"No! No buses!" I said. "I think I'm too drunk."

And it was true. My vision had narrowed. I was only able to focus on her face. The other dancers were foggy, as if they didn't really exist at all, as if they were figments in our shared dreamings.

Because this was our dream, wasn't it? Mine and Cosima's? Not Laurent's. Not Felix's. Heck, not even Bijou's.

Or so I thought with the selfish determination of an inebriated heart.

I laid my clumsy drunk hands on her cheeks.

"I want to go home," I said. "No, I mean to your home. To your hotel. I want to go home with you to your hotel. To the hotel you sleep in, you and me, together."

She laughed. If the content of my plea wasn't persuasive enough, the confused repetition must have been, because she left then, leaning me against a wall and whispering promises to return.

I watched her walk away. I watched her with a vulnerable, needy attention, a stare that only a lovesick and intoxicated fool could muster. I watched and I waited, feeling very much like _le petite chiot_ , myself.

I leaned my head back until it rested against the wall.

"J'taime," I whispered.

But of course she didn't hear me. Only the wall heard me, and I wondered how many other earnest love confessions it had overheard through the years. I turned my head, looking at the old wood moulding. It was etched with the names of lovers past. I touched the spot.

"Don't tell," I said to the wall. "Don't tell anyone that I love her."

It was stupid for many reasons, but drunks don't know that the secrets they share are the same ones they wear on their sleeves. Drunks cherish these secrets anyway, thinking that if they whisper, their words are somehow more sincere.

I was such a drunk on that night.

Cosima returned with Laurent and Felix tagging behind her. They took one look at me and laughed.

"God! What a mess you are!" Laurent said. "We can't take you home like that!"

"I don't want to go home with you anyway!" I said. "I want to go home with Cosima!"

"Well, I don't think we have any other option," he said. "Mother would never forgive me if she saw you like this."

"I don't care about her!" I said. "I don't care what she thinks! I'm an adult! I make my own decisions!"

"Alright, alright," Laurent said as he helped me to the door. "We'll see how you feel about that tomorrow."

At least, I think he helped me to the door. I don't truly remember leaving the building, nor walking down the street, nor standing on l'Avenue de la Forêt Noire. I have faint recollections of coldness, of trembling legs and lips, of walking and walking. I remember street lights. I remember shouts. I remember the sound of slammed car doors.

And then suddenly, I was standing in front a cinema ticket box, staring at a brightly lit poster kiosk. _The Rules of the Game_ was written across the bottom of the poster. Illustrated above that was an airplane, one that looked uncannily like the plane Cosima had flown in on.

" _The Rules of the Game_ ," I read out loud.

I stood still, though it was probably more like a sway. Laurent and Cosima were trying to flag down a cab.

"That's it!" I said, pointing to the poster. "That's the movie!"

And though I repeated myself at louder and louder intervals, no one paid much attention to me. Laurent shouted at another cab, and Felix grabbed at his arm, saying things like, "It's alright. Let's just walk. We're nearly half way there anyway."

"Laurent! Look! _The Rules of the Game_!" I shouted.

"Yeah, that's great, Delphine," he said, unimpressed. "Let's go."

He didn't seem to fully grasp the magnitude of the coincidence! The poster! The airplane!

"That's the movie we were supposed to see on Saturday!" I said.

Cosima grabbed my arm and pulled gently.

"Let's go, Delphine," she said. "We're going to walk to the hotel."

Just then the theatre doors opened and sleepy movie-goers stepped out into the night.

"No, no," I said. "You don't understand. This is the movie that I told my mother I was coming into town to see, but I didn't see it. I saw you instead. And look, it's an airplane! It's about an aviationist! Don't you see? Another statistical improbability!"

"That's really something, but maybe we should…"

Just then, something else caught my dumbly focused eye; a young couple that had just walked out of the theatre.

"Hey!" I shouted. "I know you!"

I pointed, surprising everyone, including the couple, including Cosima. And when Laurent turned around, he was surprised too, his eyes uncharacteristically cautious.

"Good evening, Ethan," he said.

Ethan jumped back, his eyes on me first, then Laurent, then Cosima in her suit, and finally lingering on Felix in his gown and heels.

"Good evening," he said slowly.

I didn't recognize the woman on his arm, but that didn't stop me from announcing how beautiful she was.

"Oh! I'm so happy for you!" I said. "I'm so happy you found someone else to take to the cinema! What's your name, darling? She's lovely! Isn't she lovely?"

Cosima tugged on my elbow, repeating my name in a hushed way.

"This is Ethan!" I said. "Remember when I told you about him? Remember he asked me to the cinema? Well, luckily, he found someone else to take! Isn't she lovely?"

Cosima didn't respond.

"And don't worry about me!" I said. "I've found someone else to take me to the cinema, too!"

I patted Cosima's hand, which was still in the crook of my elbow.

"She's talking nonsense," Laurent said. "She's had a lot to drink. Things got a little unruly tonight. You know how it goes."

"I see," Ethan said. "Things certainly do look... unruly."

He stared at Felix with an expression of unveiled disgust. Then he looked at Cosima, his disgust morphing into something even more sinister, a twinge of violence tainting his forced smile.

And me? When he glanced at me, his lip trembled.

"Now, if you don't mind, we'll be going," he said to Laurent.

"Of course," Laurent said.

"Good bye!" I shouted after them.

Cosima dragged me away.

"Now you've gone and done it," Laurent said.

He walked several meters ahead, walking incredibly fast, with his hands shoved in his pockets and his head down.

"Now you've really gone and done it!" he repeated.

"Done what? I was just being polite!" I laughed. "Did you see that woman? Poor girl… to think… sitting in the dark cinema next to Ethan for a whole hour and a half! How could she stand it?!"

"That's enough, Delphine," Cosima said.

"I think my skin would crawl right off if I was her," I continued, utterly sure of my own righteousness.

"Shut up!" Laurent shouted.

He spun around, raising his hands in the air and shouting. "Just stop talking!"

"What's wrong?" I said.

"Don't you know what you've done? It's bad enough he saw us in the first place, but then you had to go and insult him? You're just asking for it!"

"Asking for what?"

"People talk, Delphine!"

"So what?"

He raised his hands to his head, grabbing at his own hair. He roared.

"Christ! You are so naive sometimes! Why don't you open your eyes and pay attention for once? Ethan saw us — all of us! Do you think he's just going to keep his mouth shut?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Why? Why? Maybe he would have! Maybe... just maybe... he would have kept quiet — it's none of his business after all — but did you have to go and humiliate him in front of that girl?"

"I wasn't humiliating him! I was congratulating him!"

He cried out again and stormed off.

But even as the reality of his words creeped into the periphery of my awareness, while I was still drunk, I was still sure that I had done absolutely nothing wrong. In fact, I felt relieved. If Ethan had some other girl to court, then maybe he'd finally leave me alone.

It was only in the morning when I woke up, still in my gown and still mostly drunk; it was only then that I started to piece together the events of the night before. It was only then that I felt a creeping sense of doom.

I was laying on my back, Cosima on one side of me and Felix on the other. Felix had managed to change into a white t-shirt and slacks. Cosima was still in her suit, minus the jacket and tie. And Laurent?

It was only when I saw Laurent sleeping at the foot of the bed, curled up on his side with one small blanket that barely covered his torso; it was only then that I remembered our argument and the way his fists trembled at his side when he shouted; it was only then that I remembered the indignance in his face, an expression he had never once thrown at me before.

It was only on the bus, the first bus to Rosheim, when we sat with our elbows touching, him staring out the window and me staring blankly ahead; it was only then that I remembered the way he had grabbed my arm; the way he had laughed awkwardly and spoken in my defense.

 _Defense against who?_ I thought.

I touched his leg, unable to bear the silence any longer.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll tell mother it was my fault that we missed the bus."

I sighed because we both knew that she would believe it.

"She won't let you back into the city for a month," I said.

"Well, if she found out the truth, she wouldn't let either of us, maybe ever. Let's say it was just you and me. Let's not bring Felix and Cosima into this."

"Okay," I said.

 _Good thinking,_ I thought. _Best not to have mother thinking they are a bad influence._

"And as for Ethan…" he said.

_Ethan!_

The memory of the night before leapt to the surface of my blank mind, shattering any illusion of calm I may have maintained until that moment.

"...let's just hope he keeps his mouth shut," he said.

_Ethan! What have I done?_

"I mean, what else can we do?" Laurent said.

We didn't talk much for the rest of the bus ride. There was nothing to say. Minute by minute, more and more fragments came back to me; the cold night, the poster kiosk, the illustrated plane, the sleepy movie-goers, the girl on Ethan's arm, the look in his eye, the disgust — at me, at Cosima — the way his voice trembled when he said goodbye.

And worst of all, I remembered that one glance, the moment our eyes had met and I had caught a glimpse of the depth of his injury, perhaps the deepest injury he'd ever felt, perhaps deeper than any injury I'd ever felt — yes, through the fog of my alcohol soaked mind, I remembered the exact moment when I had broken his heart.

"He'll never forgive me," I said.

"Maybe not," Laurent said. "But I do."

He put his arm around my shoulder, and soon I found myself leaning on him, too tired to keep my eyes open, but too nauseous to sleep.

Instead, I pieced together all the good memories from the night before, all the times Cosima had smiled at me, all the times her hands had roamed up and down my back, all the shivers, all the sighs. I grabbed up all of these moments as the floated to the surface of my mind. I grabbed them up and stitched them in, refusing to let them slip away. I stitched them together one by one; the fedora, the tie, the softness of her lip, the sleep in her eye in the morning, the kiss on the cheek in the hotel lobby, a whispered promise to see each other soon, a whispered promise followed by a whispered _I love you._

I grabbed up these moments, my fists clenched in my lap as if I could actually hold on to them.

By the time we got home, it was already noon. My mother stood in the doorway, her hand on her hip. Laurent did all the talking, and thank god for that. My mother was surprisingly soft on him, excusing his behavior because, going to the theatre is an exciting event, after all. She let him off with a promise to not let it happen again, and thank goodness for Cosima for giving him a place to rest his irresponsible head.

I went upstairs and slept.

I slept for hours. I slept until the sun went down.

And when I finally came down for dinner, my father was in the middle of commenting on Ethan's absence.

"He's never missed a day before. I've got half a mind to walk right down there and check to make sure everything is okay."

"I'm sure everything is fine," Laurent said. "I'm sure he'll be here tomorrow and we'll get to hear the whole story."

"Maybe you're right," my father said. "Still… if something is wrong, what kind of neighbor would I be if I didn't at least inquire?"

"You don't have to do that," Laurent said, glancing at me.

"No, I think I will. Right after dinner," he said.

Laurent said nothing else because there was nothing else to say. Father had made up his mind. I sighed and slouched into my chair, suddenly very sober, suddenly very afraid.


	22. Chapter 22

We expected the worst.

My father was gone so long, and the house was so quiet in his absence, that Laurent and I began to go stir crazy. He helped me wash up the dishes. He even helped me with the laundry. And when we had tidied every corner of the house, we sat together in the sitting room, not even turning on the radio, but just sitting... in silence.

The crickets chirped outside, and a cool breeze blew in through the back windows. My mother hummed a cheerful tune upstairs somewhere.

It was too calm.

And so we expected storms; shouting storms of anger, accusations, dramatic gestures. We expected my father to spit the fire that would set our newfound happiness ablaze.

I cursed myself and my big mouth.

"Why couldn't I have just been nice to him?" I whispered, twisting the fabric of my skirt in my fists.

"Don't say that," Laurent said. "What's done is done. Besides, if Ethan did say anything, then he is a slug, and you were right to humiliate him."

I sighed, happy to hear that Laurent was now with me, instead of against me.

 _At least we are in this together,_ I thought.

When my father came home there was no shouting, no bulging neck veins, no dramatic gestures.

No, he walked slowly, calmly down the hall to the sitting room. His voice was eerily flat as he stood at the door.

"I want both of you to go to your rooms. I need to speak with your mother in private."

"Is Ethan okay?" I said. "Is everything alright?"

"Delphine," he said.

His tone demanded compliance.

"Yes, father," I said.

He waited until we were upstairs, before he called my mother's name — her first name, Arianne — in a tone that was utterly unfamiliar to us.

My mother stepped out onto the landing just as we arrived at the top of the stairs.

"Is your father calling me?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes," I said.

Laurent went into his room and shut the door.

"What's wrong? Is it Ethan?" she asked.

"We don't know," I said.

"Hmm," my mother thought out loud. "I wonder what could have happened?"

She hurried down the stairs with a bounce in her step.

I felt sick to my stomach. I went into Laurent's room instead of my own; I'm not completely sure why, save for some vague notion that there was safety in numbers.

He didn't even look at me when I walked in. I left the door cracked open and leaned my ear against the doorframe. Our eyes met, me leaning against the wall, him sitting on the corner of his bed, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

"What are they saying?" he whispered.

_Shhh!_

I pressed my finger to my mouth.

My father was doing the talking, I could hear that much, but he was speaking so calmly and quietly, that I couldn't make out whole words — a few long vowels here, a few aspirated consonants there. He talked for a long time, and the only thing I recognized through the walls were our names.

_Laurent, Laurent, Laurent… and Delphine._

I glanced at Laurent. His face was pale, sickly. He looked like he might throw up.

My father talked a long time, and then… there was a pause.

_BANG!_

A hand slammed on the table. Broken glass. A shriek of pain.

"How dare he?!" my mother shouted.

Laurent jumped up from the bed. I pushed him back from the door.

_BANG! BANG!_

"How dare he?!" my mother shouted again. "I'm going beat him! I'm going to beat some sense into him right now!"

"Now, Arianne, wait just a minute…" my father called after her.

There was a flurry of footsteps up the stairs and the stairs groaned beneath the furious weight.

Horrified, Laurent and I stumbled backward onto his bed.

The door flew open.

My mother stood in the doorway — dominating it — her eyes raging, and her hand dripping blood onto the threshold.

"How could you do it?!" she screamed. "How could you throw away our entire family's reputation?!"

"Maman…" Laurent stuttered.

"Be quiet!"

My mother raised her bloody index finger and shoved it at us.

"You listen to me, and listen to me good. I've always protected you ever since you were a little boy… don't you think we know about you? Your father and I? Don't you think we know? You're my son! But you are a man now, and you have to grow up and start acting like a man! Everything you do, it comes back on us? Do you understand?"

Laurent dared not speak. I dared not move, though my finger seared with pain.

"We've worked too hard for our reputation in this town. Do you know what happens when people start talking? When they hear rumors? They stop inviting us to dinner. They stop inviting us to brunch. They stop sitting next to us at church. And do you know what happens after that? They stop buying our wine! What can we do then? How can we live then? And the Lumieres? How can they live then?"

I was sure I was leaking blood onto Laurent's bed, but I dared not move.

"Should I beat you?! Should I?!" she screamed.

Laurent said nothing.

My mother crossed the room in two huge steps, the back of her hand raised and ready to fly. Laurent shrank back into the bed and let out the most pitiful squeak, softer than a mouse and more pathetic.

"Should I beat you myself?! Answer me!"

"No!" Laurent said, tears in his throat.

"Maybe I should! Maybe if I don't, somebody else will!"

My father grabbed my mother's arm.

"Arianne, that's enough!" he said. "That's enough!"

"I don't know what ideas you got… going into that city every weekend, but this isn't the city, Laurent. We aren't surrounded by liberal-minded folk. I'll be damned if I have anyone talking about my family, or worse…"

_Or worse…_

Her words hung in the air. We all knew what she meant. Even I knew, in a distant sort of way; the same way I knew how to dread war.

"I'll be damned if anyone ever hurts my family!" my mother went on, but her voice was wavering.

"So I might as well do it myself!" she said. "I might as well do it myself until you learn your lesson!"

There was a moment that seemed to last forever; a moment when my mother stood with her hand in the air, her entire body trembling, her mouth quivering and her face red; a moment when my mother had become completely unpredictable, and so we all waited, not breathing, just waiting; and just as one watches a beloved family heirloom fall from a shelf, certain that it is doomed to shatter against the floor but helpless to stop it, so we all watched my mother's bloody, trembling hand and waited for it to lash out.

But it did not.

No, finally, with hot tears in her eyes, she lowered her hand and we all took a breath.

"You will never see those people again," she said, her eyes hard on Laurent. "You will never see them again, and you will most certainly never take your sister to one of your filthy places again. Do you hear me?"

 _But it wasn't his fault!_ I wanted to shout. _It wasn't even his idea!_

But then I realized the weight what she had just said.

 _Those people,_ I thought. _Who are those people?_

My heart shriveled in horror, because I already knew the answer.

"Do you hear me?!" she repeated.

"Yes," Laurent said.

His voice was thin and high, a frightened echo of the boy he used to be.

My mother turned around, but stopped at the door.

"I'm not foolish enough to try to change you," she said. "Only you can do that. But you have to get better at hiding yourself… for all of our sakes."

She left the room, stomping down the stairs and out the front door. I didn't see her again for the rest of the night. When I heard her return — opening the door quietly, climbing the stairs in a slow, exhausted sort of way — I had already been laying in bed for hours.

I had already been laying in bed and I had already been listening to Laurent's quiet sobs for hours.

I could not cry, myself. If I felt any pressure build up in my throat, in my chest or behind my eyes, I clenched my fists and scowled and fought back the tears.

 _I'm not the victim here,_ I thought. _I have ruined everything._

And yet… and yet…

My mind kept returning to the movie theatre, to the fuzzy, electric poster kiosk, to the look on Ethan's face; the curl of his lip, the cringe at the corner of his nose, the hate in his eyes. It that memory, everything was distorted.

Victim and perpetrator was all mixed up in that fuzzy space and time. Yes, I had hurt Ethan. Yes, he had already decided to hurt me. It was all set and irreversible then. Neither of us was innocent.

 _But Laurent,_ I thought.

I heard my mother's footsteps through the floorboards for a little while longer. I heard my parents talking, trying to be quiet despite their passionate words. And when the footsteps trailed off, I knew that she was in bed. Finally numb, I fell asleep.

The next morning I awoke to more shouts.

"He's going to ruin this family!" my mother said. "First, we lose Ethan and now Laurent won't work, either. He is trying to ruin us."

I jumped from bed and ran to my door. When I opened it, I found my parents at a stand-off in front of Laurent's door, my father blocking it with one arm extended, my mother trying to slip around him. He grabbed her by the elbow.

"Arianne," he said. "That's enough."

"He has to get up!" she shouted. "He has to work! He has to do the work of two men! He owes us!"

"Arianne!"

She backed off.

"Aren't you going into town?" my father asked. "Don't you have things to do today?"

"Yes," she said. "Though I don't know how I can show my face now."

"I'm sure you'll survive," he said.

"Maybe I should stay and help you with the field work."

"No need. I've got Delphine for that, don't I?" he said.

My father glanced in my direction, his gaze demanding my corroboration.

"Yes, of course," I said. "Of course."

My mother relented and left us alone for the rest of the day.

Within the hour I found myself out in the morning sun, kneeling on my hands and knees in the vineyards, pulling up weeds from the base of the vines, counting them as I went, wondering how many I'd have to clear to feel any sort of redemption, wondering if I'd ever really feel it.

 _I should tell my parents everything,_ I thought. _I should tell them it was all my idea. I should tell them that I am the filthy one, not Laurent. I should tell them Ethan is the filthiest of all, and that he is trying to ruin our family all because I refused a date!_

But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't entirely true. I knew that my hands were dirty.

I kept my head down and kept pulling weeds, crawling back and forth, from one long row to the next, half-expecting to hear the rumble of a motorcycle engine.

The rumble never came.

By noon, my back ached and my shirt was drenched with sweat, and when I stood up to stretch, I saw how far I'd come. I stood at the very edge of our property, only a few more rows left to cover, and still no redemption in sight.

But I did see the place where our dirt road turned into cobblestone, just as it led into town. I did see the unassuming brick building on the outskirts of Rosheim, built only a few years before, the new _bureau de poste._

I remembered Cosima's words — _Où est... le bureau... de poste?_

 _Yes!_ I thought. _A telephone!_

I looked back toward the house, scanning the hillside for any sign of my father. I spotted him, only a shadow on the top of the hill. He was rolling a great wooden cask into the barn. Once he was inside, I knew I had only a few moments before he would return for the next cask.

I threw my gloves onto the ground and ran.

Once inside the post office, I stood with my back to the door. The officer looked at me expectantly, smiling behind a snow white moustache.

"What's wrong, dear? Are you hurt?" he said.

"No," I said.

"Your hand is bleeding."

I looked down. He was right. The cut on my finger had re-opened when I fell on Laurent's bed; the scab had split right in half. My bandage was soaked red.

"Oh, it's nothing," I lied. "It doesn't hurt."

"Well, in that case, how can I help you?"

"I need to make a phone call," I said.

"Okay, that'll cost you five cents," he said, pulling up a pen and a pad of paper.

"I don't have any money with me."

"Oh?"

"But… it's an emergency… sort of."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you said you weren't hurt," he said.

"I'm not, but my friend is. She is desperately ill, and I desperately need to talk to her. I can bring the money later today, but I need to make the call now. I don't have any time."

He sighed.

"Well, technically only allowed to waive the fee in cases of emergency."

"Yes!" I said. "Yes! It's an emergency!"

He pointed to the telephone that was mounted on the wall. I reached for the receiver with butterflies in my stomach.

"I don't know the number," I said. "But I know the name of the hotel."

"The hotel? There's an emergency at a hotel?"

"Yes," I said.

"And where is this hotel?"

"In Strasbourg."

"In Strasbourg?"

"And what's the name of this hotel?"

"Le Hotel Au Pont des Vosges."

I knew he didn't believe me, but he stepped around the counter anyway. With a little detective work, he managed to not only find the number but have the operator connect me as well. I waited on the line with my back to him as it rang and rang and rang.

"There's no answer," I said. "No one is answering."

The officer looked at his watch.

"Well, it is about that time," he said. "Everyone is out to lunch. Perhaps you should come back later — with five cents — and try another call."

"No, I can't," I said.

I hung up the receiver, my hand heavy and my heart even heavier.

"Well, what about a telegram?" he said. "A little slower than a telephone call, but just as effective."

"Yes, okay."

I stepped to the counter, my steps heavy because my heart was in my toes.

"Now, what would you like to say?"

"Ehm... just that... I can't come to the city... and she can't come here... there is trouble... Ethan trouble."

"Can't come to the city," he wrote on his pad of paper.

"Now, that last part, I'm afraid it doesn't make much sense."

"She'll understand."

"If you insist," he said. "Anything else?"

"I will wait for her response. I will come back tomorrow."

"Are you sure that's all? There isn't much else that will fit anyway."

"Yes, that's all."

"Alright. Just double check here," he said, turning the pad around so that I could read the entire message.

Can't come to city. Don't come to Rosheim. Ethan trouble. Will expect reply tomorrow.

"Yes, that's fine," I said.

"And what's your name, Dear?"

"My name?"

"Who should I say it's from?"

I hesitated.

"Say it's from... say it's from... Hans."

"Hans?"

"Yes."

"You don't look like a Hans."

"She'll understand."

He raised another eyebrow.

"Please," I said. "Please just send it as soon as you can. I'll come back tomorrow with the money. I promise."

"Alright, Dear. Don't get worked up. I'll send it right now, before I step out for lunch."

"Merci! Merci! I have to go."

I ran out the door before he could say goodbye.

I ran back to the fields, slipped the dirty gloves on over my dirty bandage, and fell to my hands and knees.

I almost cried, but I did not cry. No, instead, I pulled those weeds out, yanking each one up with a renewed determination. And when I reached the end of one row, I moved to the next. And when the sun began to set, I returned to the house. And when my mother didn't return from town, and Laurent didn't come out of his room, I prepared dinner for my father and myself.

And the next morning, I prepared our breakfast. We ate in an uncomfortable silence; it was the silence of calm waters. We stared at each other from opposite shores, neither one willing to skip the first stone.

"I'll just check the news before we head out," he said as he stood.

We were not in a rush that morning. The sky was still a delicate dark blue. I sipped coffee from a cracked porcelain cup as my father switched on the receiver in the sitting room.

Right away, we knew something was wrong.

The newscaster spoke at an incredible speed, tripping over his words; words that I might not have recognized only days ago; words like _Luftwaffe_ and pact and diplomatic agreement.

I walked to the sitting room, standing in the door with my cup in my hands.

 _"The President has not made an official statement at this time, however, we have confirmed reports from several different sources that the German forces have, indeed, invaded Poland at_ — _or around_ — _five o'clock this morning. I repeat, the German forces have invaded Poland at_ — _or around —_ _five o'clock this, the first of September 1939... a day that will most certainly be taken down in the history books."_

I took a deep breath.

_"This just in... the Mayor of Strasbourg has made a statement strongly suggesting that citizens of Strasbourg do not panic, that the National Guard has been mobilized and evacuation procedures are in place. He goes on further, urging citizens to follow the directions of their local police and emergency personnel."_

"They're evacuating Strasbourg?" I said. "Why?"

"Well, I suppose they're scared," my father said.

"But what about the Maginot Line? What about us?"

"I don't know," he said as he focused on the newscaster's voice. Then more quietly, "I don't know."

The radio droned on, the buzz in the background of the studio was clearly audible now, as if they didn't even bother closing the studio doors. There was the ruffling of papers, the rearranging of segments, the restating of facts.

" _If you are just tuning in to the program, it has just been confirmed by several sources that the military battleship, Schleswig-Holstein, has opened fire on the Polish city of Danzig. There are other reports, though still unconfirmed, that the Luftwaffe has also invaded the western border of Poland near the town of Wieluń. The President has still not made an official announcement regarding France's foreign policy toward Hitler and Germany at this time."_

My father switched the radio off and looked at me.

"Well, that's that, I guess," he said.

"What should we do?"

"What we always do… go to work."

"But, shouldn't we stay here? Shouldn't we wait to hear from the President?"

"They don't know anything yet," he said. "We might as well get as much done as we can, because who knows what will happen next."

"But…"

"I'll go into town later for the paper," he said. "They're printing a new edition as we speak, no doubt."

"I'll go!" I said. "I'll go get the paper, as soon as my work is done."

"Alright, darling. Alright," he said. "If you insist."

He put his hat on and headed for the door. I followed behind, looking up at the sky. It was a delicate color with only a few stars. And though it was only September first, there was a noticeable chill in the air. I shivered as I walked out into the fields.

My father stayed close by my side that morning, not leaving more than a hundred meters between us. And anytime we heard a motorcar in the distance, we both would look up, we both would watch the headlights pass on along the main road, all of them coming away from Strasbourg, and none of them heading toward it. Then we would both set back to work, me shivering in the shadowy morning air, and my father?

I don't know if he shivered.

But as more and more motorcars appeared on the road, and in greater frequency, his mouth twisted into a concerned and pensive grimace, and he began working faster, so fast that we had finished clearing out the weeds before the rest of the town had even woken up.

"I think we're done with our work today," he said. "Maybe you should go get that paper now. And some bread, eggs... and some milk, whatever you can with this."

I didn't argue. No, I didn't ask questions. I took the money and ran.

I went to the post office first, but it wouldn't open for another thirty minutes. I went to the general store next, grabbing up a newspaper even though it contained no information about what was happening in Poland. I bought some groceries, too, and then I headed to the bakery.

The baker smiled when he saw me.

"Delphine!" he said. "I heard you had to help out at home yesterday. We missed you here."

"Yes," I said. "Laurent wasn't feeling well."

"What a good girl, you are," he said. "Will we be seeing you on next week then?"

"Yes, I think so," I said.

 _He doesn't know,_ I thought. _He hasn't heard the story yet._

I paid for the bread as fast as I could, as if I were afraid that someone might come into the shop at that very moment and make the announcement of my family's impending social ostracism.

When I got to the post office the second time, the officer was just opening the door.

"Good morning, Hans," he said. "I bet I know exactly what you are waiting for. It came in yesterday afternoon."

I followed him into the dark store and set my groceries on the counter.

"Let me see," he said reaching for a small yellow slip. "Yes, here it is."

He pushed the slip toward me. It read:

I understand. Will wait to hear before returning to Rosheim. What about the plane?

I bit my lip, feeling somehow disappointed with the content of the message.

"This arrived yesterday?" I asked.

"Yes."

"And there's nothing new from this morning?"

"Well, we've only just arrived," he said.

"Right, of course."

I folded the message and tucked into my pocket. I felt uneasy with it there, not because it said anything too revealing, but because it said nothing revealing at all. It told me nothing about the state of her heart, nothing about how she had felt when she read my message and realized that we were temporarily banned from meeting each other.

And now, it told me nothing about how she was that morning, if she was safe, if she was scared, if she was making plans at that very moment to leave France forever.

"Here's ten cents," I said.

I walked out of the post office with my head hung low, nearly getting run over by a passing car. It honked and I jumped to the side. Then it continued right on its way, right through the center of town and right out the other end, right on down the long road and — I imagined — right through the next town and the next.

When I looked up, there were more cars just like it dotting the road.

"Don't panic," I whispered. "They said don't panic."

I was already several hundred meters away from the post office, already at the place where the cobblestone turned off into our dirt drive, when I heard someone call out from behind.

"Excuse me! Excuse me, Mademoiselle!"

I turned to find the post officer shouting after me. He was waving a little yellow slip in his hand.

I started walking toward him, and then jogging and then running, despite the heavy groceries in my hands.

"A new telegram has just arrived," he said with a smile. "It came through right after you walked out the door."

"Oh!" I said.

I set the groceries down in the road and snatched the paper from his hands, reading it several times, reading it because I couldn't actually believe what I read. And with each successive pass over the words, my world became smaller and smaller, until finally I could not breathe.

I pushed the paper toward him.

"What's wrong?" he said.

"Can you read it to me?" I said. "What does it say?"

"Sure, Dear," he said.

He held up the paper, and I watched his mouth closely. I watched the little white moustache as it moved up and down, making sure I didn't miss a single syllable.

"France too dangerous," he started. "Leaving immediately. Wait for me... Signed, Dandelion."

"I thought so," I said. "I thought that's what it said. Merci."

I took the paper from his hands and walked away.

I looked up, and the sky all lit up — was almost completely blue — save for one last star.

If the post officer called after me, I didn't hear him. I couldn't hear anything at that moment, save for the sound of tears. But they were not my tears. They were the tears of that very last star, and by the time I reached my house, the star was gone and so were its tears.

Everything was silent.


	23. Chapter 23

_October 6, 1939_

_Dear Delphine,_

_First of all, I want to say how sorry I am to have left you so fast. I'm also sorry it has taken so long to write this letter. I hope you understand that I didn't have a choice, that I would have stayed if I could, or even better, I would have taken you and your family with me. But thought experiments like this are both futile and foolish, because we both know that I would never have been able to convince your family to follow me anyway, especially not with the 'Ethan trouble' you wrote about in your telegram._

_By the way, I can only imagine what Ethan must have said, how sinisterly he must have described our little party, so sinister that your parents saw fit to keep you away from the city and from me. Then again, I can still remember the look on his face, and I can only sigh, because you did seem to break his heart and hold it right in front of his nose. And I hate to admit it, but a certain part of me felt bad for the guy… but the rest of me felt equally as proud to have your hand on my elbow when you declared that you had found someone else to take you to the cinema._

_Oh, what a commonplace luxury it seems now, to be able to go out to the cinema and spend the evening together. I wonder when such a thing will be possible for us again._

_But no… I will not linger on another foolish thought._

_Instead, I have resolved to find a way back into France._

_We are back in London, you see. My father has moved us all into a new apartment, but he says it is only temporary, that we will probably have to move again based on his work. He talks even less about his work now than he used to. I think he is disappointed with the way I handled things in Rosheim, and I can't say I blame him. Felix still laments his lost plane every day. I wonder what your family will do with it now? Please tell your father that I will continue to forward a rental fee for the barn for as long as he is willing to house it. If he is unwilling to house it, then I will try my best to make other arrangements._

_That is why I need to get back to France; I have so much unresolved business there. Dare I say, we have so much unresolved business?_

_Felix continues to give me flight lessons, despite the fact that I already lost one plane. And I continue to take those lessons, because I can't help but think that the best way back to you will be through the air… but how I would get you all safely to London, that's a different question entirely._

_That's the bad thing about being a dandelion; what kind of talent is it to fly, if you can't carry anyone but yourself?_

_I wish I could carry you right now. I'd pick you up and spin you around like they do in the movies, and your hair would be perfectly curled and your lips would be perfectly red, and we'd cry happy tears and fly off into the sunset together._

_This is one foolish fantasy, if only because you are a full head taller than me, and it would be ridiculous for me to try to lift you. But it is one that I can't let go of, as it gives me strength, and so I hope it gives you strength, too. Think of it at night before you sleep, and I will think of it, too._

_Please, reply to me at this address. Please, tell me that everyone in your family is okay. Please, think of me often and don't forget what I said to you and what you said to me._

_Until I hear from you,_

_Your Dandelion_

_November 13, 1939_

_Dear Dandelion,_

_I can't tell you how happy I am to hold your letter in my hands! Perhaps it's because I haven't heard from you in so long, or perhaps its because I'm writing in the privacy of my own room and my own thoughts, but I have the urge to tell you so many things that I have never told anyone._

_These are things I should have said while you were here, but I was too scared._

_The truth is, I have more foolish fantasies stored up in my mind than I will ever be able to count. Since the day you left, I have done nothing but retreat into fantasies. There is no where else to go. My family is no longer a family. I mean, we feel more like four individuals, all of us going about our individual lives with our individual agendas. We are as polite as strangers at meal times and as awkward, too._

_The peace in our house is a fragile thing, as fragile as a spider's web, and so we tread lightly, none of us dares to be the one to disturb it._

_I spend most of my time alone, working in the fields or reading in my room. I have finished the book you gave me, and you're right, it is not uplifting at all. But I don't care. It gives me strength to know that it exists, and that you exist, and that we once existed together…_

_I think I should tell you how you made me feel, that night on the roof, but I wonder who might read this letter._

_I will simply say, I think I did not exist before that night. I did not know that I was a flame. I always thought of myself as dust, earth, maybe even air, but never a flame. And then you appeared and I have been burning ever since. Even now, alone in my room, my hand burns as I write this letter, and my chest, and I think that flame is who I really am. Sometimes, I feel the flame so strongly that I wonder if others can see it? Do they know that I did not exist before, but now I do?_

_This flame feeds my fantasies. I think about you all the time. I imagine you in that red dress, twirling me and touching my face. I imagine you in your trousers, working beside me in the vineyards. I wonder what it would be like, you and me, a couple of winemakers in our old age, pulling out a bottle and saying, "Aw, yes, 1939, that was a very good year."_

_This flame feeds me in the lonely day time hours, but it does nothing but destroy me at night. You have asked me to think of you at night, but of course I do. Of course, I always do._

_Perhaps I have been too forward in this letter? At least from my end, I feel safe in the knowledge that no one in my family can read English, but you? Will my words cause you any trouble? Then let me call myself Hans. Let me be a tragic hero who harbors a tragic love._

_And speaking of trouble, we have not seen Ethan or heard from him since that night. He quit his work here, and has told my parents horrible things about Laurent, though what he said exactly, I doubt I will ever know. My father refuses to talk about it. And Laurent? He doesn't necessarily refuse to talk to me, but we don't talk much. There is a wedge between us. I know he blames me for all of this, and rightfully so. I also know he wants to get away from this tedious web of a household as much as I do._

_I hope for now that I can keep my mouth shut, keep my head down and work my way back into his good graces. I hope one day to have my brother back._

_I will think of you tonight and every night until I can see your face again._

_Love,_

_Hans_

_December 10, 1939_

_Dear Hans,_

_I like this new name. Somehow it suits you. In a funny way though, signing your name as Hans might end up being no less dangerous than signing your true name. The last thing we would want would be for any onlookers to think I was romantically involved with a passionate young German!_

_Especially these days! London is crazy with spy fever! My father comes home every night warning me to be alert at all times, as the city is most likely infested with Nazi spies. Imagine if he found your letter and assumed the worst? But don't worry, over the years, I've grown very good at hiding things like this from him._

_I keep your letter in a book, a special book — it is the same book in which I keep a picture of my mother — and every night I take it out and read it before I sleep. I often wish that it smelled like you, or your room, or even like that field of sunflowers, but no, it only smells like ordinary paper. I read it every night and I think about what you said about how you never knew you were a flame. I like that very much. I like it very much and I think I know exactly what you mean._

_If only we could send a kiss the same way we can send a letter! If only we could send a smell or a smile or a whisper! I think you are right! Nights are the worst time to think of these things. Instead, I should think about ordinary things, like washing the dishes, taking a walk, driving a car. But then, even ordinary things become extraordinary in the night, when my mind walks the glowing paths of my desire, and everything is illuminated, everything is full of love. In comparison, the real world is too cold, harsh, and unbending._

_I have decided to go to work to occupy myself. I've taken a job at a munitions factory, as that seems to be the best way to help with the war effort. I started three weeks ago already. It keeps me busy and the days pass faster this way._

_Oh! I have forgotten to say! Felix has enlisted in the Royal Air Force. He left weeks ago for training and it's been incredibly lonely without him._

_I should end here so that I can get to the post office before it closes._

_I hope this reaches you before Christmas! Please, know that I think of you every day._

_Love,_

_Dandelion_

_December 24, 1939_

_Merry Christmas Dandelion!_

_I have just received your letter today, on Christmas Eve! Just as the post office was closing its doors, I barged in and begged the man to check for your letter. He is very kind and with his white moustache, he looks a little like Father Christmas, himself._

_The entire village is decorated in lights and garlands, but this year just doesn't feel the same as the other years. There is less singing, less merry-making. The streets are grayer. The lights are dimmer. Even the sweet breads that they bake in the bakery smell less sweet._

_Oh, I don't work in the bakery any more. I have officially become Ethan's replacement. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, even I thought so. But now it has become the routine, and there's no talk of finding a replacement. There's no talk of anything, really._

_There is only silence and anxious listening to the radio. I'm sure you get more information than we do. All I hear is constant updates that Russia is attacking here, and the Nazi's are attacking there. It's hard to keep up with everything that's going on. There seems to be so much action out there in the rest of the world, so much violence, but when I look out the window everything is quiet, gray and still. It's almost unbearable._

_Sometimes I think I should be grateful for the relative safety of our village, and sometimes I want to tear my hair out and scream. I want to scream at my mother for her harshness. I want to scream at my father for his passivity. I want to scream at Laurent, if only to wake him up, if only to shake him out of the stupor he has been in, if only to get my old mischievous brother back._

_And so when I hear about you working in a factory, and when I hear about Felix joining the Air Force I'm filled with a sort of envy. At least you are doing something!_

_I have even lost hope of attending university in Paris. My parents say they need me. We haven't been selling as much wine since the war started. People are scared, I suppose, and want to conserve their resources, and who can blame them?_

_My parents are conserving, too. We eat potatoes and bread more than we eat meat or cheese these days. It's as if the entire village is holding its breath, all of us together, unable to appreciate our good fortune when the enemy is so close._

_But whenever I get a letter from you, its like a breath of fresh air! My burden is lifted at least for the few moments it takes to read your words, and then the few moments it takes to read them a second and a third time._

_I keep your letters in a special place, too. If I tell you where I keep them, you might think I'm completely obsessive, and so I will let your mind wander. I will say only this — I keep them close to my heart, always._

_With love,_

_Hans_

_P.S. - By the way, you have never mentioned your mother before. Can you describe the picture to me? When was it taken? Does she look like you? Do I dare ask where your mother is now?_

_February 1, 1940_

_Darling Hans,_

_I have some wonderful news! Well, it is wonderful for me, but I'm not sure how you will receive it. I have enlisted in the WAAF! That is the Women's Auxiliary Air Force! They are going to continue my flight training, but don't worry, women are not allowed to serve as combat aircrew members. Instead, I will train for the Air Transport Auxiliary, which is just a fancy way of saying that I will be like an air-bus driver._

_I got the position because of my previous flight lessons with Felix, and also because of the work in the munitions factory. You see, I will be responsible for transporting weapons and aircraft back and forth between locations in Britain._

_Speaking of Felix, he writes to me often and says he is going to be sent to Northern Africa soon._

_I hope none of this news increases your own anxiety and frustration. I can understand completely that you feel trapped. I think the whole of western Europe feels the same anxiety to some degree. We are all looking over our shoulders and wondering who is next. And that is why we must fight! We can't let the Nazi's terrorize the rest of the world, and I say Nazi's because I don't believe it is all Germans. I have family there, remember, and I feel as equally concerned for their safety as I do for yours or my own._

_Let us hope that with more people joining the defense effort, that the war will be short and that we can all return to the way our lives were this time last year. Well, with a few exceptions, that is._

_As for your question about my mother, she died a long time ago. The picture is one that my father took before they were married. She was very young in the picture, and now that I think of it, she must have been close to my age now. My father took the picture when they were on a trip to the Muir Woods. She is standing next to a redwood tree, holding something like a rubber ball in her hand and looking up._

_If you don't already know, a redwood tree can grow up to 115 meters! I don't think the tree she is standing next to is that high, but it is high, nonetheless. My father said the thing in her hand is a redwood seed, and that every redwood tree comes from a seed no bigger than a tomato._

_Whenever I look at that picture, I'm always struck with the irony; she's leaning up, marveling at something so large and so old, and I am leaning in, marveling at her, someone so fragile and so young._

_She died before my third birthday. I don't remember what she looked like except for that picture. When I was younger, I used to think that I, too, came from a redwood seed; that my mother had planted me in the ground right there, and when I had grown enough, my father had come back, pulled me from the ground, and taken me home. I used to imagine that my roots had curled up that day, had retracted into the bottoms of my feet, and for years after, whenever my feet itched, I imagined that it was only my roots trying to grow back out._

_These days my feet itch every night when I read your letters, a phenomenon that I can't quite explain._

_I miss you. More than I've ever missed anything. I wish desperately for a picture of you, lest I forget what you look like, too._

_When my training is over, I will send you a photograph of myself in my new uniform. I will also send my new mailing address, though we must be careful, because the WAAF will most likely surveil all incoming and outgoing correspondences._

_We must not say anything that will give us away as being unnatural. And so I must say it all right now, in one final burst!_

_I love you! I love you like every other fool who has ever loved! I love you like Ondine loved Hans! I love you like the redwoods love sunshine and the earth. I think only of you every day — not only at night when I am the most lonely — but also in the morning when I wake and in the afternoon when I am busy in the factory. I think of you when I am coming and going. I see your face when I look upon others, and I hear your voice when they speak to me._

_Everything I do, it is all set into motion by one motivating factor, the desire to get back into France. I will find a way to you. That much I promise. And so, I beg once again! Don't fall in love with someone else! Don't let anyone else hold your hand, or touch your back. Don't make anyone else laugh, because if you do, they are sure to fall in love with you. And I couldn't bear it!_

_And now I must shut up about my love. I must not speak of it again, lest I be labeled an invert and kicked out of the WAAF. Can you bear it?_

_Here, I will write it one last time, and the words must last us for as long as this war persists:_

_I love you! I love you! I love you!_

_Yours always,_

_Dandelion_

_February 21, 1940_

_My dearest friend,_

_Finally, I have received a mailing address for you. And I have taken a photo! Do you like it? Do you like my uniform? If only you could see it in full color. The jacket and hat are a dark navy and the shirt is sky blue. I get to wear a tie, too, which I seem to recall you liked._

_Our basic training wasn't nearly as hard as the men's, but we did have to wake up with the sun, do calisthenics, and pass a general physical fitness test. I expected to lose weight, but I've actually gained some. They tell me it's muscle._

_They also trained us how to use a gun! Can you believe it? They say it's just in case of an invasion, but then they go on to say that if there really was an invasion all of us women would be the first to be evacuated. What a joke, huh?_

_Another disappointing thing is that my flight training has been delayed. They say that there aren't enough instructors right now, that the men get priority. I will have to wait two months at the least, maybe more. Until then, they're training me as a spotlight operator. That means long cold nights sitting in a tower, overlooking the sea, watching the skies for any signs of the Luftwaffe._

_I don't mind it so much. You know me, the higher up I am, the better._

_I can't help but think of you on those nights, because even though the skies are dark and full of stars, I still have yet to see as many stars as we saw that night over Rosheim. I wonder if you ever climb onto that roof and look at the stars, too? I wonder if we have ever looked up at the same time and remembered the same thing? Yes, that thing._

_Anyway, I will be here for a few months at least, so send me a letter as soon as you can. Let me know about your family, about your town, about the details of your day, even the most mundane ones. I have nothing but time up here in this spotlight tower._

_I have nothing but time and affection for you._

_Your friend,_

_Dandelion_

_March 25, 1940_

_Dear Cosima,_

_I love this photograph! You look wonderful! Words can't express, my friend. And yes, the tie is a nice touch. And the hat, too! I should like to see you in this uniform one day. I should like that very much!_

_You seem happy in your letters and so I should be happy for you. You are moving around so much and yet, here I am, standing still. This town seems frozen. Some days I try to convince my father that we should leave. Some days Laurent chimes in, listing relatives we have on the western coast, but my father won't budge. He seems to think that staying where we are is the best we can do, in fact, that there is no other option. He is certain that if we abandon the vineyards it would be the financial ruin of our family, and perhaps the Lumieres' as well._

_But I grow more and more restless. The news is filled with reports on the movements of the SS, and they seem to be sweeping the land all around us; Austria to the east and the low countries to the north. It's like a giant hand is reaching out, and no one with any power will make a move to avoid its grasp. The people with power, the ones they interview on the radio, they all say the same thing, "We have the strongest defended border in the world. We learned our lesson from the last war. The Germans won't fool us again."_

_But there are those who disagree. There are whispers of doubt._

_Men in the back of bars whisper about things like rebellion, liberation and freedom forces, and these things seemed to stir storms inside of Laurent. At dinner one night he said he wanted to enlist in the military. My father refused instantaneously. My mother slammed her hand on the table and launched into another torrent about how Laurent was trying to ruin our family._

_This time Laurent didn't cry; he slammed his own hand down, shouting that our parents were the worst of examples French arrogance and greed._

_All three of them left the table in a stalemate of sorts, and only I was left to clean up the dishes._

_For the next few nights I couldn't sleep. I think I half-expected Laurent to sneak out his window in the middle of the night and run off to enlist. If he had done it, I wouldn't have blamed him. But he has not left yet, and every morning that he shows up to the breakfast table, I thank the heavens and secretly pray that my parents won't say the thing that will push him away forever. They have no idea how close they are to doing just that._

_Oh, dear. I am sorry to fill this letter with such sad things. I was supposed to write something mundane, wasn't I? Well, Monsieur Lumiere has decided to plow up the sunflower field in the spring and plant a new variety of grape. He thinks it will bring new business, even though Madame Lumiere promises to grieve the loss of her beloved sunflowers._

_I think I will grieve, too._

_Felix's plane still sits in the barn. My father covered it with a canvas tarp, and as far as I know, he keeps the money you send him in a tin can. He asked me only once if you intended to send him cheques until the end of time, and I said that yes, you would continue to send cheques until you returned for the plane. At that, he sighed and continued with his work._

_I go out to the barn sometimes, and I sit in the front seat of the plane, and I imagine you in your uniform. I know you must be flying a different kind of plane now, but still, it's the best I can do to get close to you. I sometimes imagine that I could fly the thing myself, that I could just pick up and fly myself right out of here. But who am I fooling? I'd probably end up in someone else's field… I might almost run over a stranger and then that stranger would fall in love with me, and I think I promised someone once that I'd never let anyone else fall in love with me._

_So for now, I will stay put, as I always do._

_To share something even more mundane, do you remember that cut on my finger? Well, it has healed completely, leaving only a little white scar in its place. Do you remember how much blood came from that tiny little cut? It's almost funny now, looking back._

_When I look at the scar now, I imagine someone that I love might kiss it one day… perhaps some handsome soldier in a uniform and tie. Yes, I imagine that might feel very nice, to have someone that you love kiss the tip of your finger. What do you think?_

_I know you are busy, but do write back soon and tell me all about your adventures! In the meantime, I will try to think of more uplifting stories to tell you._

_Your dearest friend,_

_Delphine_

_P.S. I will include an old photo of myself and Laurent standing in front of the new family tractor. I think I am nine years old in the picture. That was a happy day in the Cormier family._

_April 19, 1940_

_Dear Delphine,_

_I have received your photo as well! You are so young here! Are you sure no one will notice it is missing? Looking at this photo makes me wish I had met you sooner. I think we would have been good friends, and goodness knows I didn't have many friends growing up._

_I get along well enough with the other girls here. Some of them even seem to share similar interests with us, read the same books, if you know what I mean. And others, they are here for the money or to get away from their homes. But still I am lonely. They talk about men incessantly, and I can't bring myself to make up stories to please them, so mostly I keep to myself._

_I still receive letters from Felix and my father, which reminds me… I have some bad news._

_My father's work, well, let's just say he works in the interception and interpretation of Wehrmacht communications. He tells me that the Nazis are planning something big. He says they are gathering munitions and troops on the border of Luxembourg. He says in his last letter, "Your friends in Alsace should take necessary precautions." By that, I can only assume that he thinks invasion is imminent._

_So I beg of you, whatever you can do to get away from Rosheim, at least for the time being, you should do it. I know the French military is certain that they can fight off any attacks, but seeing how quickly the rest of Europe has fallen, it makes me wonder. It's always better to be safe than sorry._

_If it's money your family is worried about, then I can send more money. I can make arrangements for you — for all of you — in Paris. In fact, I think I should have offered sooner. Please, you must convince your family to take this offer! And if they don't take the offer, then you must consider the possibility of leaving them._

_I will make the arrangements. Go to Paris. Go to L'Hotel St. André des Arts. It's on the corner of Rue Dauphine and Rue St. André des Arts. I make will a reservation for you and your family for next week. I will keep the reservation until I hear from you, either way._

_You said you often wonder about your father's words; you often wonder if you are a rock or a leaf? To that I say you are neither._

_You are a flame, Delphine. Didn't you say so, yourself?_

_You are a flame._

_And if you let yourself be extinguished, the entire world is extinguished with you._

_Your friend,_

_Cosima_

_May 1, 1940_

_Dear Cosima,_

_I must thank you for your offer. Truly, you are the most generous person I've ever met. But I can't accept it._

_I can't go to Paris. I can't even mention it to my family._

_I tried once, the day that I received your letter. I honestly tried to make the suggestion, but when I opened my mouth, I froze and nothing came out. I guess I am scared. I am scared to make any more suggestions, because what if they refuse? What should I do then? Run away?_

_I've never been to Paris before. How could I go alone? And if I run away, what's to keep Laurent from running away and enlisting in the army? And if we both run away, what will become of my parents who so stubbornly insist on staying here, as if they truly have grown roots out of the bottom of their feet?_

_My only wish is that you have not already spent money on the hotel. I hope you cancel the reservation as soon as possible._

_We can call ourselves whatever we want; rocks, leaves, dandelions, flames. But it's really not as simple as all that, is it? I am also a daughter, a sister, a child; a loyal daughter, a dedicated sister and a scared child. Didn't your American poet say it? "I am large, I contain multitudes."_

_You say you will stop at nothing to get back to Rosheim. Well, it looks like my family will stop at nothing to keep me here. I will wait for you._

_I will wait._

_Love always,_

_Delphine_


	24. Chapter 24

_April 3, 1942_

_My dearest,_

_my lost,_

_my Dandelion…_

_I have written so many letters to you, and yet I've heard nothing in return._

_Two years I have waited for you. Two years and the days have dragged on like seasons in themselves._

_I have written so many letters, but with nowhere to send them, I began writing them in a journal instead. I filled volumes and volumes of journals, and tucked them away beneath my bed, certain that when you returned, I'd be able to account for the time, I'd be able to show you how diligent I was… how unwavering and loyal._

_But they are all gone now, all those letters, all those journals, and with them perhaps all the time. And maybe it is best this way. Maybe it is best to let that time get carried away on the wind._

_But that is only hindsight speaking, because of course, I didn't have a choice. Sometimes I look back and wonder when was the last time I made a choice, a real choice. Perhaps it was the day we met, when you asked if I spoke English and I said yes instead of no. Perhaps it was the night in front of the movie theatre when I laughed in Ethan's face. Perhaps it was the day I received your letter begging me to run away to Paris and I refused._

_Were these my last real choices? Everything that has happened after, everything that has led me to where I am right now — sitting at a tiny desk, in a tiny room behind a false door, in the basement of a bakery in Strasbourg that Madame Bijou owns — none of it was within my control._

_Sometimes I hear children playing outside on the street. I can see their filthy feet through the basement window. They laugh and play as if they are not hungry and dirty and scared. They toss jacks in the air. They watch where the jacks scatter and laugh as they try, over and over, to pick the jacks back up again._

_I watch the jacks, too, but I do not laugh._

_I still have the letters you sent me, those precious few that survived that night. They survived because I had tucked them inside my clothes, as close to my chest as I could. Now they are sweat-stained and the creases threaten to split at any moment. I handle them like holy sacraments, only letting myself read them when my longing for you is at its absolute worst, usually in the darkest hours of the morning._

_I suppose I should back up. I suppose I should try to summarize all those letters that I lost. I should try to explain myself, explain why I left Rosheim and why I won't be there if you ever do come back for me._

_Let me see, the last I heard from you was in May of 1940, right before "The Fall of France" as everyone calls it now. No one called it that then. No one called it anything for a long time. We were too shocked that such a thing had even happened; we had to comprehend it before we could label it. But it did happen! And so fast!_

_I'm sure you know by now that Alsace was annexed right away, that within the year we were no longer citizens of France, but had become — and still are — citizens of the Third Reich. I'm sure you know more about it than I do, and I'm sure that's why your letters ceased. At least, I hope that is why._

_All I know is that life after the Fall and life before it carried on in much the same way. We worked, we slept, we ate. Rosheim didn't change much at all, except that from time to time, long caravans of soldiers, tanks, and other vehicles passed through, and we were asked to "donate" food and wine whenever a group of them decided to stay in town._

_But mostly, for two years we were left to ourselves, left to our own befuddlement at what had become of us. The news was filled with declarations of the Great German Empire, a New World Order, and other propaganda. My father stopped listening to the radio._

_Laurent sometimes went into Strasbourg without me. My parents didn't try to stop him. There were no more arguments in our house. Laurent did as he pleased._

_And sometimes he'd come home late, his breath reeking of wine and he'd tell me about the young men he met, about how they called themselves "La Main Noire" and how they intended to fight off the Nazi occupation in Strasbourg. I urged him to stay away from such dangerous ideas, that they were pointless now, that he had seen the tanks and the airplanes, and what can a group of drunken boys do against those?_

_He always left me with a sigh and a nod of his head that made me think that I had succeeded in persuading him to let those dangerous ideas go. It went on like that for several months, until finally my father brought home the newspaper and the headline read, "If I have to die, I shall die with but a pure heart." Those were the last words of Marcel Weinum, the leader of "La Main Noire," right before he was beheaded._

_Laurent took one look at the paper and then he threw his cup across the room. It shattered, and we all screamed. His face red and his chest heaving, Laurent left the kitchen, perhaps to go break something else, something less fragile._

" _That boy needs to find a better way to blow off steam," my father grumbled._

_Perhaps the Nazi leaders in France felt the same way, because only a few months later, on one of those nights when Laurent was already out, there was a knock at the door. When my mother opened the door, she was greeted by two SS soldiers. They saluted her with their hands straight in the air, then gave her a letter. My mother limply saluted back and closed the door._

" _What do they want? More wine?" my father asked. "They're going to drink us out of house and home."_

_My mother opened the letter and before she could get the paper out of the envelope, she screamed, collapsing into a heap on the floor. My father walked to her, touched her back and reached for the letter. He read it to himself, quietly, and when he had finished reading it, our eyes met._

" _What does it say?" I said._

" _Your brother has been conscripted into the army," he said._

" _The army? What army?"_

_But of course, it was the only army. We are citizens of the Third Reich after all. There is only one army… the Wehrmacht._

_That night I woke up in the middle of the night to see Laurent sitting on the edge of my bed. I could only see his shadow, but I heard the swish of wine as he drank straight from the bottle. He spoke quietly, as quietly as a drunk man can speak._

" _Life is unpredictable," he whispered. "Un...pre...dic...ta...ble."_

_Every syllable was drenched with scorn and spit._

" _Oui," was all I could say._

" _You're so lucky," he said. "You're a girl. Everything is easy for girls. No war, no responsibility. You do as you please. You come and go as you please. You wear your clothes and your hair however you please. You dance with whomever you please… you write love letters to whomever you please!"_

" _Laurent," I started but he cut me off with another swig of the bottle._

" _But me? What can I do? I must be the man! I must think of the family! I must grow up, but no, Laurent, not too much, we don't want you to grow up too much!"_

" _They love you," I said. "They were trying to protect you."_

" _And now what?!" he nearly shouted. "Now I have to fight for them?! Heil Hitler?!"_

_I heard the anguish in his voice and a dangerous thought crossed my mind._

" _You could run away," I said. "Go to Bijou. She can help you! She owes us a favor!"_

_At that, he only laughed._

" _Run away? God, you're so naive!"_

_He took another drink. I heard the tears in his nose and the spit in his mouth._

" _Do you know what happens to the families of deserters?" he said._

" _Non," I whispered._

_He wiped his face on his sleeve and took a deep breath._

" _Non. Of course, you don't."_

_He was quiet for a long time, wiping occasionally at his face and sipping at the bottle until it was empty. Then he stood up and spoke, his voice steady and clear._

" _Anyway, I can't run away."_

_A week later we walked him to the bus stop. We stood there with a handful of other families, Ethan and his mother among them. I felt Ethan's gaze; it was the gaze of one who has too much to say. I avoided the desperation in his eyes, choosing to look the other way._

_Instead, I watched Laurent. He made jokes and smiled, putting on a great show for my parents. My mother fussed over him, over the bag on his shoulder, which was mostly filled with the food she had prepared._

_Eventually, a canvas-covered truck arrived, and we watched as all the young men from Rosheim climbed into the back of it; Ethan and Laurent were the last ones in, and so they sat, face to face, knee to knee, at the very back of the truck, both turning toward us as the truck pulled away._

" _See you at Christmas!" Laurent said, smiling._

_He tossed something out the back of the truck and I caught it; it was his lighter._

" _What's this?" I shouted._

" _It's my favorite lighter!" he shouted back. "Keep it safe for me!"_

_I smiled and chased after the truck, even as it sped up, even as it pulled past the post office and out onto the long road to Strasbourg; I chased behind it, smiling and waving._

" _I will!" I shouted. "I will!"_

_I was crying, Cosima, and maybe you would think I was crying because I was sad, but would you believe me if I said that in that moment, I was happy?_

_The lighter was a truce, you see. Laurent had finally forgiven me._

_I kept that lighter safe, as safe as I have kept your letters. And Laurent did return at Christmas time, for two days._

_I knew something wasn't right as soon as he arrived; we all did._

_His was too thin. His face was hollowed out and there were dark circles under his eyes. Oh, sure, he tried to charm us. He tried to smile and laugh and be light-hearted. He even brought us presents; a set of nesting dolls for me, even though I was past the age for playing with dolls; a scarf for my mother; and most surprising, a pistol for my father. It was shiny, untouched, and set in a wooden box._

" _What is this?" my father said._

" _I got it cheap," Laurent said._

" _Why?"_

" _No reason," Laurent said, shrugging his shoulders. "I just thought it was beautiful, and since I'm not around to help out with the skunks and gophers anymore… besides that rifle you got is likely to backfire in your face it's so rusted out and old."_

" _Well, it certainly is beautiful," my father said._

_He touched the barrel, his finger leaving an oily smudge on the metal._

" _Thank you, Laurent. That was very thoughtful of you."_

" _You could teach Delphine how to use it," Laurent said. "I bet she'd make an excellent exterminator in my place."_

" _I couldn't," I said._

" _No, I think that's a great idea," my father said. He looked back and forth between my mother and me. "Maybe I could teach both of you. Why not?"_

_Laurent tapped a finger on the table, and when he noticed it, he moved his hand to his lap. Only a few minutes later, I felt his knee shaking below. He couldn't stay still._

" _Are they feeding you enough?" my mother said. "You look like a beanstalk."_

" _They feed me, but it's not the most appetizing."_

_Laurent's hand returned to the tabletop, his finger tapping again. We all noticed it. And when he picked up his porcelain teacup, it trembled until the hot liquid spilled out onto his wrist._

" _Merde!" he shouted, nearly dropping the cup._

" _It's fine!" my mother said._

_She grabbed the cup from his hands. "It's fine."_

_She reached for his sleeve which was soaked with tea._

" _Are you burned?" she asked as she pushed the sleeve up._

" _Non!" Laurent said jumping away._

_But it was too late, we had all seen it; the bruise on his forearm that was the color of pressed grapes._

_My mother stood up and reached for his arm._

" _What is this?!" she said._

_She pushed his sleeve up, further… further. There were more bruises; some small, some large, some bright green, others the color of old blood._

" _What is this?!" she said again._

_Laurent couldn't look her in the eyes. He stared at the ground, deeply ashamed._

" _It's nothing," he whispered._

_My mother reached for his other arm, and when she pushed the sleeve up, we saw more bruises; they dotted his skin like some sort of disease._

" _Stop!" Laurent said. He pushed her hands away. "Just stop!"_

_My father stood up then._

" _Let's all calm down," he said. "Let's just let Laurent explain."_

_My parents sat back down, but Laurent went to the cupboard, poured himself a glass of wine, took a long drink and then joined us with the bottle and glass in hand._

" _I guess you were right, Maman," he said. "You were right."_

" _I was right about what?"_

" _You said if you didn't beat me, someone else would."_

" _What are you talking about, dear?"_

" _The other men in my company… they beat me."_

" _They beat you?"_

" _Yes, whenever they get the chance… whenever they catch me alone."_

" _Why would they do that?"_

" _Why do you think?" Laurent said._

" _Well, why don't you report them?" my father said._

" _They say that if I tell anyone about it, they will kill me, or worse, they will tell the commanding officer about me… about how I am..."_

_We all knew what he meant, and so we all sighed and leaned back into our chairs._

" _Well," my father started. "How do they know? Do they have any proof?"_

" _I have a friend," Laurent said. "He was just my friend, I swear! Anyway, they found him with someone else…"_

" _What do you mean found him with someone else?" my mother said. "Found him how?"_

_I froze because I could imagine it clearly, the way they were found… I froze because I imagined my mother finding me on my floor, with Cosima's body on top of me. I squirmed in my chair._

" _They found them… together," my brother said, looking down at his hands._

_My father cleared his throat._

" _The details aren't important," he said. "Go on."_

" _Anyway, they were discharged from the army and sent away."_

" _Sent away?" I said. "To where?"_

" _To the camps?" my mother said._

_Laurent nodded._

" _And these bruises?" my father said. "Are there more like this?"_

_Laurent nodded again._

_My father's jaw was set. He regarded the pistol box on the corner of the table._

" _Show me," he said._

" _What?" Laurent said, embarrassed._

_My father stood up. "I want to see."_

_They went into the bathroom, and when they came out, my father nodded to my mother, just one quick affirmation with his chin._

_My mother started crying into her hands._

" _What should we do?" I said. "We have to get out of here! We have to leave right away! Tonight!"_

_Without answering, my father walked off to the sitting, and when he returned he held a leather bound atlas in his hands. He set it on the table and wiped the dust from the cover. He opened to a map of France._

_My mother looked up, biting back her tears in order to listen._

" _We can't go west," he said. "They've got us all the way to the sea."_

" _Let's go south," I said._

" _No," my father said. "How can we be sure they won't just push further south later? How can we be sure that all of France won't be annexed into the Third Reich?"_

_Laurent was quiet. He took another long drink. My father turned to him._

" _What do you think? Would we be safe in the south?" he asked._

_Laurent shrugged his shoulders._

" _How can I know? They send us to fight the Russians and tell us nothing about the western front. I guess they think it's a conflict of interest."_

" _In that case, I think we should go to Switzerland."_

" _To Switzerland?" my mother said, her eyes still wet with tears. "How can we go to Switzerland? What about the Alps?"_

" _Yes," my father said. "That is the question of the hour, isn't it?"_

_He tapped his finger on the map._

_Tap, tap, tap._

" _They'll be covered in snow ten meters deep," my mother went on. "We'd never make it, not even ten kilometers."_

_My father sighed and turned to Laurent._

" _Can you bear it a little bit longer?"_

_Laurent shook his head from side to side, his eyes pleading._

" _But you must," my father said, his voice cracking. "You must bear it a little bit longer. We can't leave now. We don't have the papers, the supplies. And the weather… "_

_Laurent's face was twisted up into the worst grimace. He hugged himself, and seeing him like that, my father reached for him._

" _I'm sorry," my father said. "I'm so sorry."_

_He held Laurent's face in his hands and kissed his forehead._

" _Can you forgive me?" he said._

_Laurent wrapped his arms around my father's waist, burying his face into my father's shirt._

_I couldn't breathe._

" _You must go back," my father said. "You must go back until the weather breaks. We need more time. Do you understand?"_

_Laurent nodded his head and let out a gut-wrenching sob, curling further into my father's embrace._

" _When you see the first blades of grass on the ground — the first buds on the trees — you run. Do you hear me?"_

_All of this I remember with crystal clear vision. All of this I remember as if it happened yesterday. But it was nearly four months ago, now. It was nearly four months ago that we sent Laurent back to his abusers, back to the eastern front, where he fought against the Russians in the day and against his own company at night._

_I scanned the ground every morning, searching the expanse of browns, grays and whites for any hint of green. I scanned the darkened vines for any buds of growth._

_And I remember the morning, when I was searching for green, but instead, my eye caught a small patch of red poppies that had sprung up by the driveway, as if overnight. Even as the frost melted all around them, they stood proud and fragile in the cool March morning._

_That day we packed our bags and my father showed us how to shoot the pistol. I wasn't much of an aim, but I could pull the trigger._

_I packed only one journal in my bag — it was all that I could carry — and I kept that bag by my bed; each of us did, each of us ready to leave at a moment's notice._

_The night that he arrived he was only a shadow of a man, his feet weary and covered in blisters, his eyes like blotted glass, his youth hidden behind a scraggly beard. He arrived with nothing but the uniform on his back, but we were ready._

_He was hungry, and so we prepared one last meal of pork, cheese, bread, fish and oranges. After that, Laurent changed his clothes and my mother wrapped clean bandages around his bloody feet. He winced but did not cry out._

_I cleaned the dishes and set them out on the counter to dry. When I set the last dish down, my finger lingered on the edge of it. I had such a strong sentimentality for that dish, but it was only a dish after all._

_Behind me, I heard my father load the shotgun. Then he loaded the pistol and set it on the table._

" _Let's get moving," he said._

_We all put on our coats, hats, and scarves and double checked our bags._

" _That's everything?" he said. "Ah! Wait! Delphine can you get that tin?"_

" _What tin?"_

" _The tin with your friend's money in it. Looks like we finally have some use for it."_

_I looked at the tin can that was set up on the cupboard, the one where he'd put all the money you'd sent him. I hadn't realized that he never spent it. I didn't have time to ask him why._

_I reached up, leaning over the kitchen sink, leaning close to the window there, and I grabbed the tin. I set the tin on the counter and pulled out the wad of bills which he had rolled and bound with a rubber band._

" _Wow! How much is it?" I asked, holding the roll up to my face._

" _Let's just hope it's enough. Let's go. It's threatening to snow."_

_I leaned toward the window and glanced out. He was right, the sky was dark gray and starless, but then… there was a flash of light._

_I leaned further forward still. I caught glimpse of headlights coming up our drive._

" _Someone's coming!" I shouted. "Someone's coming!"_

_My father reached for the shotgun. Laurent cracked open the door and peered out._

" _It's them!" he whimpered. "It's them. We're too late! We're too late!"_

_My mother turned to me. She grabbed the pistol from the table and shoved it against my chest._

" _Run, Delphine!" she whispered._

" _What?" I said. "Non! I won't!"_

" _You must! YOU MUST!"_

_I looked to my father._

" _Listen to her!" he shouted._

_Laurent stood by the door, pulling at his own hair and slamming his fists against his head._

" _We're too late!"_

_My father grabbed Laurent's hands. Outside the vehicle screeched to a halt._

" _Laurent! Control yourself!"_

_My mother pushed me._

" _Move, you stupid girl!" she said. "You're dead now! Don't you understand?!"_

_I backed away from the scene, moving slowly, as if floating, my eyes locked on my brother as he cowered behind the front door._

_I heard the first knock, and then the second._

_I was nearly to the back door when the third knock came._

_My mother straightened her dress and reached for the door handle._

_And just as she opened the front door, I closed the back one._

_That was the last time I saw my family._

_I stood with my back to the wall of the house, listening to their muffled voices, just barely able to hear over the sound of my own heart beat. I clenched the pistol against my chest, cradling it as if I were holding a child. I looked down at the barrel and flinched._

_The voices grew louder, harsher, more urgent._

_BANG!_

_My father's shotgun._

_At the sound, I shot out into the night, running with the vineyards between our house and the Lumieres'._

_I heard shouts behind me._

" _Halt! Halt! Stop!"_

_BANG! BANG!_

" _Zie halten es!"_

_I ran faster, and faster still. I came out onto the road that led to the cherry grove, and I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I thought I heard someone running behind me and calling my name. I thought I heard someone calling my name, but even farther away still, I thought I heard my mother._

" _My daughter is dead!" she shrieked. "My daughter is dead!"_

_I ran on, down past the creek, over the flat boulder, and down to the cherry trees. Their white blossoms swayed, ghostly in the wind. I slipped beneath the wall of branches; I slipped into the secret sanctuary of my favorite tree — you know the one — and scrambled up the trunk, perching myself on the highest branch that would support me._

_I had heard right. Someone had been running behind me; so close that I had only settled in the tree for a moment, when I heard the footsteps approach. They were the heavy footsteps of a soldier's boots; at first, fast and hard on the cold path — then they slowed — then they stopped just on the other side of the branches._

_I held my breath._

_Then he whispered my name._

" _Delphine?"_

_His voice sent chills down my spine, because I knew him well, as you would most certainly know him, too._

_Ethan._

_My heart hardened and I clenched at the pistol which I had forgotten was still in my hand._

_I saw his boots beneath the cherry blossoms. He stood there, not daring to take a step further, not daring to duck beneath the branches uninvited._

_Silently, I pointed the pistol at his feet. Silently, slowly, I pulled the hammer back._

" _Delphine?" he whispered again. "Are you there?"_

_Then another soldier appeared, panting and shouting._

" _Wo ist sie? Did you find her?"_

" _Nein," Ethan said. "Nein."_

" _Then what are you waiting for?"_

_They ran away together, back toward the Lumieres' house._

_I closed my eyes and imagined myself an owl, still and silent, blending into the night._

_Finally, when I was sure they were gone, I slowly lowered the hammer of the gun. Then, my hands shaking, I took all the bullets out, horrified at myself, horrified at what might have happened had I pulled the trigger._

_I took all the bullets out and put them and the pistol into my pocket._

_I clung to that tree for a whole night. Can you believe that? A whole night?_

_I listened for the footsteps that never returned. I listened for the truck engine, but I heard none. There were no footsteps, no voices, no gunshots in the distance. It was all quiet save for the swish, swish of the wind through the cherry trees._

_I think, that despite the cold, despite my violent shivers, I managed to drift into a shallow sleep. I think I heard a laugh, the happy laugh of a child, and my heart warmed at the sound. I thought I heard a child laughing and shouting the way only a child does, "Bang! Bang! You're dead!"_

_I saw a summer-haired boy, his eyes like the sea and full of mischief, his forefinger and thumb thrust into the air, his aim locked on me. "Bang! Bang! You're dead, now! You're dead!" He laughed and ran, ducking beneath the cherry blossoms before I could respond._

_I awoke with a start. My ears ached from cold, and my fingers and toes, too. I uncurled my fingers which grasped like hooks to the tree trunk. When I looked up, the sky was a dirty, ominous gray._

_I climbed further up the tree, as high as I could, and I peeked my head out, turning toward my house._

_Though it was still quite dark, I saw our house up on the hill. I saw the rows of vines that led up to it. I saw that the light was on in the sitting room._

_Did we leave the light on? I wondered._

_And then, as if to answer my question, the light went dark._

_I felt a rush of horror mixed with hope._

_Someone is in the house, I thought. But who?_

_As far as I could tell the vehicle was gone. As far as I could tell, everyone was gone._

_I should wait, I thought._

_But it was too cold to wait. My fingers and toes were already numb, and pain pierced my ears like an icepick through the flesh._

_I took one last look at my house — at the crumbling wall, at the firepit Laurent had made, at the log bench beside it — and I knew, all at once, that I could not return._

_I slid down to the ground._

_My plan was simple; move through the vineyards, take the long way to town, circle around and out of sight. Whoever was in the house — I guessed it was Ethan and the other soldier — they were waiting for me, and when the sun came up they might come looking for me._

_But when I got to town, when I turned the corner of the post office, I spotted another covered truck, just like the one that had taken all of our young men away four months before. It was sitting in the middle of the Avenue. A soldier leaned against the driver's-side door, his leg propped up behind him, a gun at his side, and a cigarette in his mouth._

_I paused behind the post office wall. Then I took a deep breath, tucked my hands into my pockets, and turned the corner._

_It was only a handful of steps — could only have been a handful of steps — to cross the storefront to the door, but the space telescoped in front of me. And though I couldn't breathe, my eyes never left that soldier, as he puffed, puffed at his cigarette._

_Just as I pushed opened the door to the post office, I think he turned to look to at me, and with every ounce of composure I had left, I stepped inside._

" _Bonjour, Hans!" the post officer said. "I haven't seen you in ages!"_

" _Please!" I said. "Give me a letter! Any letter!"_

" _Well, let's see," he said. "I haven't received any letters for you in quite a long time."_

" _No, not a letter for me. Any letter! Any letter! I'm in trouble. Please! That one! Give it to me!"_

_I pointed to a bin of letters behind him, waving my finger desperately._

" _What, dear?"_

" _Please listen to me," I said fast and low. "The SS are looking for me. My family is gone. I am not Delphine Cormier. Delphine Cormier is dead."_

_He swallowed hard._

" _A letter! Please!" I said._

_He turned and reached slowly. He was still holding the letter in his hand when the door opened._

" _Heil Hitler!" a man said behind us, his boot stomping against the ground._

_The post officer looked from him to me and back again._

" _Ehm, Heil Hitler," the post officer said. "I'll be with you in just a moment."_

" _So when do you think that will arrive?" I asked. "Do you think I should use the express service?"_

_I reached for the letter in his hands, reading the addresses as fast as possible._

_The post officer looked at the soldier behind me, but I kept my face forward._

" _I need to know, you see," I rambled on. "I need to know if it will make it to Bordeaux by April 15th because that is my cousin's 16th birthday, and she won't forgive me if she doesn't get my letter before her birthday. "_

_I felt the soldier move closer, until he was right behind me._

" _Well, Madmoiselle… Pichard, I think that it will most definitely arrive by the fifteenth."_

" _Oh! Do you really think so?!"_

" _With time to spare," he said. "I guarantee it."_

" _Excuse me," the soldier interrupted._

_Finally, I turned and smiled._

" _Yes?" the post officer said. "How may I help you?"_

" _I'm looking for someone," he said, looking right into my eyes._

" _For whom?" the post officer said._

" _A girl," he said. "She lives in that house up on the hill."_

" _Oh, the Cormiers!" the post officer said. "Yes, I know them well. Best wine in the valley. Why are you looking for her… ehm, what's her name again?"_

_The post officer looked at me._

" _I don't know," I said. "Denise, I think?"_

" _No, no, that's not it."_

" _Anyway," I said, turning my back to the soldier. "Are you sure that letter will arrive before the 15th? Because if it won't, then I'd rather spend the extra money and send it express."_

_The post officer looked back and forth between us._

" _Ehm, wait just a minute dear, the officer was asking me a question. Why are you looking for the Cormier girl?"_

" _The Cormiers have been… relocated. I am under orders to make sure the girl is relocated as well."_

" _Well, shucks," the post officer said. "I wish I could help you out more, but I'll keep an eye out."_

_The soldier glared at me a moment longer, then turned slowly on his heel._

" _You know what," I said, too loudly. "You know what, just send it express! I think it's best if we just send it express. It's always better to be safe than sorry, right?"_

" _Alright, dear, if you insist," the post officer said. "That will cost you an extra twenty…"_

_He trailed off after the door closed, then he grabbed my hands._

" _What's going on? Where is your family?"_

" _I don't know," I whispered. "But I can't go home. You have to help me! I have to get to Strasbourg!"_

" _Strasbourg? Why would you go there? That place is crawling with Nazis."_

" _So is Rosheim."_

_He closed his mouth and thought._

" _There is a truck coming at ten o'clock to pick up yesterday's mail. If we can get you on it..."_

_And I did get on that truck, Cosima. I did get on it and I rode it all the way to the German district. And when I got off, I found myself back at Le Chiot. I stood on the steps with only your letters against my chest, Laurent's lighter in my left pocket, and the pistol and cash in my right._

_But I also had hope, because I knew that if anyone would know how to hide a dead girl, it would be Madame Bijou._

_And that, my darling Dandelion, is why I left Rosheim._

_I hope you can forgive me._

_Yours always,_

_Delphine_


	25. Chapter 25

_April , 1943_

_Dear Dandelion,_

_I think I'm being haunted; either I'm being haunted or I'm the ghost._

_You see, when I pulled open the door to Le Chiot, the place was packed with Nazi soldiers. They laughed and chatted, drank cocktails and smoked cigarettes, just like we used to do. No one paid any attention to me when I entered, as if I weren't there at all. And if I hadn't spotted Madame Bijou in her usual spot in the back of the room, I would have thought that I'd come to the wrong place altogether._

_But no, it was the right place, and when I tried to ask Bijou about the change in clientele, she said something about keeping her enemies close. I swallowed hard as she led me out onto the street and over to the bakery._

_She gave me a room on the second floor. There is a wardrobe, a nightstand with a lamp, and two beds. She never told me who the second bed was for. She told me to wait there in that room, to not come out until she had new papers for me. She asked me what name I wanted, and I asked her what I should do with the pistol and the cash. She told me to keep both, because you never know._

_I asked how long I had to wait for the new papers. She said, sometimes days, sometimes weeks, sometimes… She trailed off before that last one. I asked if she could bring me a pen and some paper. She said she'd see what she could do._

_And so I sat in that room like a phantom._

_I heard people come and go in the bakery downstairs, and sometimes a girl brought me food. She was young, maybe fifteen. Her name was Mae and she had a nice smile. I never asked her about her family, and she never asked about mine. She slept in a room down the hall. It has two beds and a wardrobe, just like mine._

_I sat there quietly for nearly two weeks._

_That was when I first heard the lighter._

_That was when I first heard it, and I think I still do._

_At night, I think I hear the lighter Laurent gave me. I think I hear it in the dark._

_Flick, flick, flick._

_I sit up. I turn on the lamp. I open the wardrobe and reach into my coat pocket. But when I pull the thing out it is quiet and still._

_It has happened enough times, that I don't put it in the pocket any more. I leave it on the nightstand in plain view, but I swear, when I close my eyes…_

_Flick, flick, flick._

_And once, I thought I heard Mae whistling a cheerful tune in her room. I thought I heard it through the wall, and when she brought me my dinner I asked her what was the name of the song, and she asked what I was talking about, what song?_

" _The one you were whistling," I said._

" _I wasn't whistling," she said._

_And that's when I realized that perhaps, I'm being haunted._

_Or perhaps, I'm losing my mind._

_I'm not sure which proposition is more terrifying._

_Mae is gone now, but when I ask where she went, the other bakers fall silent. I think they are trying to protect me, but from what, I don't want to guess._

_And after two weeks of being a ghost, my new papers arrived and with them, my new name. I chose the name Arianne, after my mother, and every time someone calls me by that name I can't help but think of my father._

_Yes, I'm reminded of his weary voice. I'm reminded of the nights when he sat with the dusty atlas at the kitchen table and plotted our escape into Switzerland._

_I still remember it clearly, the way he leaned over the table with his pencil between his teeth, running his finger over the page and scowling in concentration. I still remember the way he sat — as still as a stone. And even though he barely moved, I knew his mind was churning. I knew he was treading the currents of unforeseen emotions and unforeseeable obstacles._

_I probably should have gone to bed, but I stood there a little bit longer, watching from the hallway, careful not to interrupt him, because I knew that I was witnessing something miraculous. I was watching my father become buoyant, a thing that must have terrified him, and I knew that he was doing it not for himself, but for all of us._

_When my feet grew weary, I shifted my weight and the floorboards shifted beneath me. I remember the way he turned his head, and when he saw me, the way his scowl relaxed into a smile._

" _What are you doing awake?" he asked._

" _Nothing," I said._

" _You should get your rest," he said. "We have a lot of work to do tomorrow..."_

_He trailed off for a moment, and his words echoed through the quiet house. Then, as if hearing himself, he paused and glanced around the room. When our eyes met again, he chuckled._

" _You're doing the right thing," I said._

_At that, his face became soft._

" _You always have," I said._

_He smiled a humble smile, as if he didn't really believe my words, but he nodded his head anyway and turned back to the map._

" _Well, the worst thing we can do in our situation is deviate from the routine… not until we absolutely have to, that is. So, that means an early morning and a good night's rest."_

" _Yes, father," I had said._

_Perhaps that was the most important gift my father had given me that night — the gift of routine._

_And when I came to Le Chiot; when I threw myself at Madame Bijou's mercy, not only did she give me a roof over my head and a new name, she also gave me a new routine._

_She gave me the morning shift at her bakery._

_And every day since, I have woken up before the sun and baked the day's bread. I do this so that when the morning customers arrive, their croissants are warm and fluffy, and for a moment they can forget that they are prisoners in their own city._

" _That's what you're selling," Bijou had said that first day. "You're not just selling pastries. No, no, no. You're selling something much more valuable than that — you're selling the illusion of la normalité."_

_And things have been normal, I suppose, for the most part. I have a normal room with a normal bed on the second floor of this seemingly normal bakery, which sits on the corner of two normal streets in the German district of Strasbourg. I have a new name, one that I chose, and to everyone else is sounds normal._

_I have a regular schedule, with regular customers._

_There is a housewife who comes every morning for her husband's breakfast. She complains about the heat. She complains about the cold. She complains about her children and her sore feet. She complains about the soldiers, and then, in the next breath, she complains about the Jews, as if this was all their fault. I bite my tongue. I smile and nod. She thanks me for the bread, and she heads on her way._

_There is an SS Officer who will come in everyday for several weeks and then disappear, only to reappear a month later looking for the same chocolate croissant, his eyes lighting up at the sight — no, that's not entirely correct. I should say his "eye" because one eye is covered up with a black, leather eyepatch, and behind it his skin is raw and freshly scarred, as if by fire. He is a chatty fellow, and some might call him charming, but to me, his smile — which sits smack between the black eye patch and the bright white SS insignia on his collar — is misplaced and uneasy. He makes jokes and I pretend to laugh, if only to appear "normal."_

_There is even a little cat who will politely wait on the front step until I open the door and give it a piece of cheese. The cat never says anything, but licks its lips expectantly, and when I have nothing left, it walks off with its tail high, seemingly unconcerned with the superficial changes in the city; the crumbling apartments with lights that never turn on, the Swastika banners that flap in the wind, the khaki colored Panzer tanks that now prowl its territory. No, the cat simply moves off down the block, perhaps to the butcher or the cafe, perhaps looking for more handouts._

_Some days I think that cat is much braver than me. I can barely step foot from this building. Instead, I roam the staircases, up and down all day, haunting the place, still feeling like a ghost, fearful that if I cross the threshold, I might disappear forever._

_In the afternoon I close up shop, return to the basement and lock myself into a secret room behind a false door._

_This is where I must complete one last task that Madame Bijou has asked of me. This is where I am supposed to sit, every night, at this tiny desk with a pen in hand, listening to the BBC on the radio. Actually, there are two radios, if you can believe it. I have one radio tuned to the English BBC and the other tuned to the BBC French service._

_I have to listen to both, you see, because, as Madame Bijou says, you can never be sure where the important information is going to come from._

_I have to listen, and I have to write down the things I hear; not just the news, but also the entertainment programs. I have to take down notes on which production is playing, what is the title, what is the subject, who are the voice actors, etc._

_And most importantly, I have to listen to the those personal dedications, you know the ones, the kind where a romantic young lady will dedicate a poem or passage to her soldier abroad. I even have to listen to those and write them down._

_Madame Bijou was very clear about it._

" _Write down every word of the dedications," she said. "Every word."_

" _Why? Is it some sort of code?"_

" _Something like that," she said._

" _Then should I be searching for certain words or phrases?"_

" _Don't you worry about that," she said. "Just write down as much as you can and let someone else do the rest."_

_And so I do it. Every night I write down the dedications in a logbook, and in the morning someone arrives and asks if we have any choux à la crème, and I always say, oh no, we are sold out of crème fraîche until Thursday, and then that person says, in that case, I will come back on Thursday so please prepare two dozen. And that's how I know that person is my contact._

_Perhaps I'm exaggerating. I don't have that conversation every single day, because usually the same person comes for several weeks straight, but then they disappear, and a stranger suddenly asks for choux à la crème, and the whole routine repeats itself; same dance, new partner._

_I pass off the logbook in the morning, and find it returned with the afternoon delivery of eggs. Sometimes there are loose pages tucked into the book. They are written in German and I must translate them by the morning._

_And that is how my days go, for the most part predictable, for the most part normal._

_But there are times, like when the Allied bombers fly overhead, and we are all forced into the basement; or when the Panzers rumble by, shaking the window panes; or when the Gestapo run down the street, guns drawn and whistles in their mouths; those are the times when the seams threaten to split wide open. They are the seams of the veil that I have thrown over my own face and over the face of others._

_It is during those times — the unpredictable, churning times — that I feel a terrible scream rise up in my throat, a scream that I will never let loose, a scream that if I ever did let loose, would certainly bring my own death upon me._

_I remain silent. I smile. I bake bread and I listen to the radio._

_I sleep alone and I think of you._

_That is the last part of my day, the very end of the routine._

_That is the moment when I crawl into my bed and lay as stiff as a board on my back, eyes open, hands on my chest, breath shallow and quiet; that is the time I think of you._

_It's been so long since I've seen your face. I lost the picture you sent me. I lost it somewhere between the back door of my house and the front door of this bakery._

_I must compose you anew every night, patching together all the pieces that I can remember; the sunlight on your glasses, the hair on the back of your neck, the swoop of your earlobe, an open mouth, an inhalation of breath, a laugh and a sigh, a red handkerchief against your dirty cheek. These are the pieces I remember, and I put them together in the dark._

_And when you are whole, I test myself against you. I imagine your shape and size next to me on the bed. I move over to make room for you, or I roll onto my side to curl myself around your back._

_I imagine my hand on your hip, on your waist, or higher still._

_In the dark, I become brave with my imaginings._

_I imagine you standing before me in your white cotton shirt and your trousers. I imagine the top button of the shirt is undone. I imagine my own hands reaching out, unbuttoning the next, and the next one. I push the shirt away… and oh! What a thrill!_

_I imagine how it would be to undress you completely, from head to toe, your whole body bare. I imagine the ways in which your body might be different from mine; the color of your skin, the color of your hair, the shape of your breasts, the length of your legs, the width of your hips._

_I imagine all of these things, and my hands begin to move. I want so badly to touch you, and I think that this is the best evidence that I have that I am not a ghost, that I am still alive, and that I want to go on living._

_And in the dark, I tell myself that you must be alive, too. I tell myself that it is impossible to catch fire like I do; not if I'm a ghost, not if you're a ghost._

_Is that naive? Maybe so._

_Either way, I end my nights imagining all the ways I will love you, all the places I will touch you and kiss you. Sometimes I kiss the inside of my own arm and pretend it's your cheek. I tell myself that I am not dead._

_I whisper my new name into my arm and pretend that you can hear me._

" _I'm no longer Delphine Cormier," I whisper. "My name is Arianne Niehaus."_

_And so we are family now. We are family forever._

_Yours always,_

_Yours_


	26. Chapter 26

_October 25th, 1943_

_Dear Dandelion,_

_Something happened today; something extraordinary._

_I woke up as I always have, and I went to the basement. And though the sun rises later and later every day, this morning the sky was a particularly eerie shade of cobalt, both electric and foreboding._

_When I turned on the light in the basement, it flickered several times before staying. I turned on the gas ovens. I grabbed my apron from the hook on the wall. I pulled it over my head, and I was just about to tie the back when I heard a sound like a muffled voice — it was coming from the hidden room._

_I wheeled the shelves away that concealed the door, and pressed my ear right up to it._

_Yes, I heard two voices — two men's voices — but the tone was so tinny and dry, I knew right away that it must be the radio._

_I cursed myself for being so careless, convinced that I must have left the thing on myself the night before._

_But because the door is not meant to be seen, because it is meant to be flush with the wall, there is no door handle on the outside._

_I reached for the metal spatula that I usually use to pry the door open, but then I paused._

_Someone was in the bakery upstairs. I know because I heard the little bell above the door._

" _Bonjour?" I called out._

" _Delphine!" Madame Bijou called back. "Come here, girl!"_

_I set the spatula aside, curious because Bijou hardly ever came to the bakery, and never so early in the morning._

_I hurried upstairs._

_She was flustered. She was out of breath. She held a suitcase in her hand, and I thought for a moment that it was the very same suitcase you had purchased all those years ago, the one we had used to transport the Enigma machine to Le Chiot._

_I stared and stared at the thing, but I could not be completely sure. It was no longer brand new; the edges were well worn with use._

" _What is that?" I said. "Are you going somewhere?"_

" _Non," she said, glancing out the window. "Non. It's not for me."_

" _Oh," I said._

_I hesitated before adding, "Is it for me?"_

_She didn't answer right away. Instead she leaned toward the window, first pulling up the blinds, then looking anxiously down the street._

_I waited for her reply and my heart pounded. After all, I had silently wondered when I'd be the next to disappear; just as Mae had disappeared; just as all the others had disappeared, all the ones who must have slept in my bed before me._

_Finally, she left the window and hurried behind the counter. She set the suitcase down and out of sight._

" _Non," she said. "I'm expecting a special package today. I can't be sure when, but someone will come and…"_

_Just then a woman pushed open the bakery door. The bell above the door chimed over the sound of the her panting._

_She looked from me to Bijou. Her mouth hung open, like she was at a loss for words. She also carried a suitcase, but hers was larger and bulkier, and so she held it with two hands. She set it down, making a great effort to be gentle._

_She wore tattered gloves and a tattered coat with a large green triangle sewn into the breast. I knew what it meant._

_Gypsy._

_But that's not all it means, Cosima. Any patch like that — it doesn't matter what shape it is — any patch like that sewn into your coat, and it can only mean one thing…_

" _Ehm…" she stuttered._

" _How can we help you?" Bijou said._

" _I… I buy choux à la crème…" she said._

" _I'm sorry," I said. "We are sold out of crème fraîche until Thursday."_

_I said the words automatically — though, clearly, this woman was not here to pick up the logbook._

" _Then two dozen…" the woman said._

" _Yes, we understand," Bijou said, stepping out from behind the counter._

_She carried the smaller suitcase to the door and set it down._

" _Delphine, take this woman's bag! Now!"_

_When I reached for the bag's handle, the woman grabbed my hand. Our eyes met. Black dust had settled into the wrinkles of her tanned skin, but the whites of her eyes were incredibly clear._

" _Please, be gentle," she whispered._

" _D'accord," I said._

_But when I picked up the suitcase, it was so heavy, and the weight was so awkwardly distributed, that I thought for a moment that I must be lifting a suitcase full of rocks._

_The woman slipped a fistfull of bills into Bijou's pocket, and Bijou slipped the smaller suitcase into the woman's dirty hands._

" _Go now!" Bijou said. "Go and don't look back!"_

_The woman nodded her head and was out the door before I had even gotten to the stairwell._

_I turned to watch her go, and I wish I hadn't, Cosima. I really wish I hadn't._

_She scurried down the street, you see, her head down and her chin tucked into her coat. She scurried along, staying in the shadows of the storefronts, just as a rat stays in the shadows of the gutter, her silhouette blending in with the dark gray morning._

_And then I heard it._

_I heard the gunshot._

_I heard it before I ever heard the whistle or the siren._

_I saw the smoke; it rose up from the hole in the back of her coat. It rose up and blended in with the dark gray morning._

_She staggered, but did not stop. No, she cut diagonally across the street but she did not stop and she did not look back, not once._

_Another gunshot. Another hole in her back. Another puff of smoke._

_She fell forward on the pavement, landing on her knees first, and then onto her face. The suitcase fell at her side._

_Bijou, who had also been watching the grisly scene, backed away from the window._

_And that's when we heard the whistles._

" _Move!" Bijou said. "You must hide it! Now! Under the stairs!"_

_I picked up the suitcase. And through some unknown reserve of strength, I hefted it down the stairs to the basement. I pried open that door. I shoved the suitcase in, not even noticing that the radio was no longer on._

_No, there was no time to notice a thing like that._

_At that moment, all I could hear was the screech of tires in the street, and whistles and men's voices._

_I shoved the suitcase into the room, closed the door and slammed the shelves back into place, knocking over a jar of strawberry preserves in the process._

_I caught it, thank goodness, before it could shatter on the floor._

_Then I ran to the basement window, and standing on my tippy toes, I looked out._

_I saw your suitcase in the road — or what was left of it. It had been busted open, perhaps under the wheels of the car, and now a man in a black trench coat sorted through the contents, throwing the clothing and books into the street._

_Another man stood over the woman's body. He leaned over, grabbed her by the shoulder, and rolled her onto her back. Once he saw her face, he left her where she lay, her body twisted at the torso._

_From where I was, I could not see her face, but I could see her short breaths, rising up, white at first, then fading into the dark gray morning._

_Upstairs, I heard the front door slam open._

" _That's it, Bijou!" a man shouted. "You've gone too far this time!"_

" _Officer Dupin," Bijou said. "It's always a pleasure."_

" _Where's the girl?"_

" _What girl?"_

" _The little Gypsy girl!"_

" _I don't know what you are rambling on about, but we don't serve Gypsies here."_

" _Then you won't mind if we search the premises?"_

" _Be my guest," Bijou said._

_And they did search the premises, Cosima. They searched the entire building. There were three of them, Officer Dupin, and two others, all in long black trench coats and matching hats._

_You may remember Officer Dupin, the one who asked for your identification all those years ago. He's Gestapo now._

_His men searched the first floor, opening every cupboard and drawer, then opening the register._

" _We'll have to take this for evidence," Dupin said, pocketing the cash in the register._

" _How convenient," Bijou said. "Be sure to return it when your investigation has concluded."_

" _Oh, I'm sure we will."_

_Then they moved to the basement, running their arms over entire shelves in slow, deliberate sweeps, knocking the contents onto the floor in a crescendo of crashes._

_But they did not find the secret door._

_In fact, the longer I watched them, the more I suspected that they had no idea. They didn't actually believe the there was a little girl in our bakery at all. No, no. The smile on Dupin's face made it clear, he was doing all of this out of spite._

_Finally, they checked the rooms upstairs, and when an officer opened my wardrobe, I felt a sudden panic. The pistol was in my coat pocket — and it was a German model!_

_I held my breath as the officer ran his hand between the only garments I owned; two dresses, a pair of pants, a blouse, and the coat._

_But then he closed the door, and I took a breath. Just barely._

_Next he ran his hand over my nightstand and picked up Laurent's lighter. He flicked the top — flick, flick, flick — but no flame came out. He shook the thing close to his ear, shrugged his shoulders, and set it back down on the nightstand._

_Just then Dupin stepped into the room._

" _What are these rooms for, Bijou?" he said. "Are you running a brothel here?"_

" _They're guest rooms," Bijou said, her voice flat. "For family."_

" _For family?"_

" _I have a big family," she said._

_Dupin turned to me. I thought for a moment he'd recognize me, but no, he didn't even make eye contact._

" _Show me your identification, girl."_

_I glanced at Bijou. She nodded her head._

_I took out the envelope which she had given me, the one that contained all the papers with my new name. I handed it to Dupin, but he had no intention of looking at it himself. He flicked his chin toward one of the other men._

_That man — the one who had searched my room — he snatched the envelope from my hand and dumped the contents onto the bed; a passport, a birth certificate, a school diploma, and two death certificates, each one bearing a name that I didn't recognize, each one representing a parent that I had never known._

_Dupin sniffed his nose casually, then turned away._

" _Alright," he said. "You're clear today, but we're watching you, Bijou."_

" _I should hope so," Bijou said. "That's your job, after all… to protect us."_

" _Something like that," Dupin said before walking out the door._

_We followed them down the stairs and to the front door._

_Once outside, they returned to the middle of the street, where several more Gestapo were gathered around the woman's body. I caught glimpse of her, still twisted in the street. I saw no white breaths rising up — I saw nothing but a dark gray heap that blended into the dark gray morning._

" _Go clean up the basement," Bijou said. "We still have to bake bread today."_

" _And the suitcase?"_

" _Yes," she said, her lip trembling. "The suitcase..."_

" _What's in it?"_

" _Anyway, we can't check on it now. It's too dangerous. She will have to wait…"_

" _She?"_

_Perhaps you are more clever than me, Cosima. Perhaps by this point in my story you have already discerned the contents of the suitcase, but I had no idea until that very moment — the suitcase we had tried so hard to hide, and the Gypsy girl the Gestapo had tried so hard to find, they were one and the same._

_I felt sick to my stomach, my hands trembling at the memory of the weight; at the awkward tilt and roll of the thing as I had hauled it down the stairs and shoved it behind the false door. I felt sick remembering my promise to the woman with the green patch on her coat. I felt sick._

" _She?" I repeated._

" _Go clean up the basement," Bijou repeated. "And whatever you do, don't open that door until I tell you."_

_I did as she said, though the task took much longer than it should have, because I stopped every few minutes._

_I stopped every few minutes, standing upright with the mop in my hands, standing absolutely still so that I could listen. And do you know what I heard?_

_I heard the muffled sounds of a child's sobs; sobs so quiet that they might not have been real at all; sobs so distant they might have been the echo of all the sobs of every child who has ever cried alone in a small, dark place._

_But Bijou told me not to open the door and so I didn't. I baked the bread as I have always done. I set it out as I have always done. I served the customers as I have always done._

_The housewife came, complaining about the scene in the street. The SS Officer came, too, with his eyepatch and toothy grin, shaking his head at the Gestapo. "Amateurs," he called them. "Leaving the body in the street like that, just like a stray dog. Don't they know it's bad for community morale? No, you're supposed to get rid of the body as fast as possible...Amateurs."_

_I felt sick._

_I handed his croissant off as fast as possible before retreating into the stairwell, taking a waste basket with me._

_And not a minute too soon, Cosima, because as soon as I got out of sight of the customers, I vomited up what little bit of food I had eaten that morning._

_Madame Bijou chastised me._

" _Pull yourself together," she said. "This is not the time for weakness!"_

" _Oui," I said. "I'm fine. I'm fine."_

_I wiped my tears and returned to work._

_And somehow I survived — until I locked the front door and Bijou lowered the blinds over the windows — I survived._

_Together we went down to the basement. Together we pulled the shelf aside. Together we pried the door open. Together we reached for the suitcase, but my hands were faster and nimbler than hers, and so she relented, sitting heavily on the chair as I unzipped the bag._

_I will never forget the sound._

_And when the suitcase was laid open, a young girl uncurled herself from it — slowly, painfully — her joints cracking and her face slick with dirt, snot and tears._

_She was young, maybe four or five years old. Her hair was dark, her skin was dark, and her eyes — which were enormous for her small face — they were copper like old coins. Everything about her was brown, save for the whites of her eyes, which were as clear as her mother's._

" _Bonjour," Bijou said with a forced sweetness._

_The girl regarded us, still standing in the center of the suitcase. She blinked once, twice, then rubbed at her eyes with her fists balled up, and when she brought her hands away, she seemed disappointed that we had not disappeared._

" _What's your name?" Bijou said._

_The girl blinked again._

" _Wie heißen Sie?" I said, surprised at the softness of my own voice._

" _Aishe," she said, the last syllable so soft it was barely more than a whispered shhhhhhh._

" _Guten Abend, Aishe," I said. "You must be hungry."_

_She nodded her head._

_I brought her a plate of bread and a glass of milk, which she devoured, never taking an eye off of Bijou or myself._

" _She will have to sleep here," Bijou said._

" _Here? In this room? But there's no bed."_

" _Well, we can't let her go upstairs, can we? Not with Dupin lurking about. She will have to stay here for a few days, until we can pass her on."_

" _Pass her on? Pass her on to where? To who?"_

" _I have contacts in Sweden. There are refugee camps there… orphanages."_

" _Sweden? How can she travel to Sweden alone? She's just a baby."_

_We both looked at the girl again. She watched us with wide eyes, not unlike a cat._

" _She won't be alone," Bijou said, but I could see doubt in her eyes. "There will be other children."_

" _Other children? And who is chaperoning these children? Is that what the money is for? The money that woman gave you?"_

" _Look!" Bijou said, standing up. "This is not up for discussion!"_

_The girl flinched. I flinched, too._

_Bijou took a deep breath and lowered her voice._

" _This is the way it has always been done," she said. "We don't have any other choice. Just keep her out of sight while I make the arrangements."_

" _And how long will that take?"_

" _Just do as I say," Bijou said._

_And that, Cosima, is the story of how this girl, Aishe, came to be curled up in a makeshift bed of blankets on the floor behind me. She fell asleep hours ago, and, thankfully, I have not heard her cry since._

_I dare not disobey Bijou, but I also can't bare the idea of locking Aishe in this room alone tonight._

_No, when I finish my letter here, I will go upstairs, gather my own pillow and blanket from my own bed and return to this room to sleep by her side._

_I'm not worried that it will be cold, cramped or uncomfortable. I'm not worried about losing a goodnight's sleep. Non. In fact, I think I'm actually looking forward to it,_

_I'm looking forward to not sleeping alone._

_Still waiting, still loyal, still yours,_

_Delphine_


	27. Chapter 27

_November 7th, 1943_

_Dear Dandelion,_

_It is raining tonight, a cold rain that is worse for the bones than a snow. At least snow is light and quiet. But this rain is heavy and it pounds at the street outside the window, and it is so incessant that I can hardly bare it._

_I suppose I should be grateful. I suppose I should be optimistic that the rain will wash away some trace scent that seems to linger to the front door of this bakery, and even to this basement window._

_I always appreciated the window before, but now, this window terrifies me._

_Every morning, I remind Aishe to stay away from the window, and if she hears footsteps approaching, it's best to hide under the desk. She nods her head like she understands, but she is only a girl, Cosima, she is only a girl._

_Dupin's men, you see, they have not given up their investigation of our street. No, they still show up every few days with two enormous German Shepherds. Those dogs sniff and sniff, endlessly retracing the steps of that woman, following her trail up and down the street. They always stop in the middle of the street, they always sniff at the dark gray stain there, and inevitably, they always raise their heads up with their snouts pointed in my direction._

_And each time the Gestapo officers follow behind the dogs until they arrive at the front step of the bakery. They do not search us again, but they ask me, over and over, if I have heard anything new about the whereabouts of the little girl._

" _Non," I always say. "I haven't heard anything."_

" _The dogs are picking up something from your bakery."_

" _It must be the street cats," I always say. "They come by every day begging for handouts."_

" _Let's just hope they are the only ones."_

_I have heard, Cosima, that dogs, especially hunting breeds like Shepherds, have an extraordinary sense of smell; that their sense of smell is a thousand times stronger than a human's._

_When I look into those dogs' eyes, I know that they know my little secret, but I pet their heads anyway, and give each one a piece of cheese. The officers usually laugh at that, then pat the dogs on the back and walk away._

_The dogs have come three times in the past two weeks, and Bijou has only come once._

_She brought clothes for the girl and toiletries for me. She brought no news of when "the arrangements" would be settled, and to be honest, I'm dreading the day when she does arrive, because her arrival can only signify one thing — Aishe's departure._

_I've grown fond of her in a distant sort of way. She is quiet with me, but when she is alone, I can hear her through the door, talking and talking as if she were keeping up one half of a lively conversation. I often stop my work and try to listen, but her voice is so light that it is hard to make out her words. But she laughs and plays, that much I can hear._

_When I open the door in the afternoon and take her up to the bathroom, she is quiet again._

_I give her a bath. I help her get dressed. I braid her hair into pigtails to keep her loose curls from getting into tangles in her sleep._

_I bring her any fruit I can find, because her gums are red and I think she has been malnourished for quite some time._

_Just this morning I brought her tangerines, because she likes those the best, and she stacked the peels on the edge of the desk in a great tower. When I tried to take them away, she cried out and reached for my hand._

" _Do you want to keep these?" I asked._

_She nodded her head and dug the peels out of my palm._

" _Oh, I see!" I said, pretending to understand her play. "Is this your castle?"_

" _Ja," she whispered._

_She stacked the pieces very carefully, as if she were stacking porcelain plates._

" _Aishe?" I said. "Who do you play with every day?"_

_She looked at me then, with contemplation in her copper eyes. She blinked and turned her bottom lip out. Then she turned back to her tower, having decided that she would not answer my question._

_Her cheeks had reddened and I realized that she was embarrassed._

" _Nevermind," I said and I left her alone._

_Tonight I will cover up that window with yesterday's newspaper. I just can't stand the thought of someone peeping in on us in the middle of the night, then running off to call the Gestapo._

_Once the window is covered, we will settle onto the floor to sleep, though I barely fit in this room, having always to bend my knees._

_Goodnight, Cosima._

_I miss you, of course._

_Delphine_

* * *

_November 10th, 1943_

_Dear Dandelion,_

_I write today with a very heavy heart. It's not just my heart, it's my whole body. I should like to sit in this chair, lay my head down on this desk, and never get up again. I should like to take every letter I ever wrote to you, tuck it into my shirt, and just fall asleep._

_If I can't be with you, then this spot is good enough. If I can't be with you, then I should never be with anyone. I should never leave this tiny room._

_But no, I can't indulge in these dramatics too long. I must shake them off. I must try to explain._

_This morning, I heard Aishe playing as I always do. And I brought her a small breakfast as I always do; a boiled egg, a croissant and two tangerines._

_She didn't hear me come in, and so I found her sitting beneath the desk with her back to me._

" _And this is the kitchen... and this is the bathroom," she said, her voice light and airy. "And this is the bedroom... isn't it lovely, Mama? Ist es nicht schön, Mama?"_

_I stood quietly, careful not to interrupt._

" _Ist es nicht schön?" she said again and she laughed. "And upstairs is the castle! And a princess lives in the castle, and she has golden curls…"_

_I smiled, recognizing myself in her story._

" _...she has golden curls and she is pretty…yes, Mama, she takes care of me very well. She brings me food and she brushes my hair... but when will you come back, Mama? I miss you, Mama."_

_I knocked on the door then. She jumped, spinning around, her face red with shame and surprise._

" _Guten Morgen," I said._

" _Guten Morgen," she repeated, standing up immediately with her back to the wall._

_She always watches me like that, Cosima. She might think I'm a princess, but that doesn't mean I'm fully trusted just yet. And I can't say that I blame her. I don't think either of us has met a person we can fully trust in quite a long time._

_She ate her breakfast quickly and I wondered about Bijou, about her words, about her insistence that this is how things are always done, as if she has done this a million times, as if there is some secret bureaucratic law to smuggling condemned children._

_I wondered what would happen to her, to Aishe, after the arrangements were made. Would she find a better home in Sweden? Would an orphanage be the best place for her? At least there would be other children. At least she might be able to go outside instead of being stuffed up in a tiny room all day._

_I sighed and reminded her not to play by the window. She nodded her head and watched me as I pulled the door shut._

_The morning was unusually cold and clear. When I went upstairs and pulled open the blinds on the windows, the sky was bright magenta._

_I smiled at myself as I set out the day's bread. I smiled at Aishe's perception of me, a princess with golden curls._

_But then another thought struck me._

_Yes, she is right, I am just like a princess, I thought. And just like every princess in every fairy tale, I am trapped._

_Suddenly my smile turned sour._

_We are both trapped, aren't we? We are both trapped; Aishe because she is only a child and she has no resources or foresight to save herself. But me? What is keeping me here? Am I just a foolish girl waiting for you, just as Aishe waits for her mother?_

_She only does it when no one else is around, when she thinks she is alone. Am I not doing the same thing every time I write to you, Cosima?_

_Don't we both know the truth — Aishe and I — the truth that the one we wait for will probably never come?_

_The thought made my knees weak. I leaned heavily against the counter and took a deep breath._

_Just then the bell chimed over the door. I spun around to see the SS Officer, the one with the eyepatch._

" _There she is!" he exclaimed. "There is the prettiest girl in all of Alsace! And with the best chocolate croissants, too!"_

_And with him was another soldier — a soldier whose face was hidden beneath the shadow of his black hat._

" _Isn't she the prettiest?" Eyepatch said again, nudging his friend in the ribs._

" _I don't know," his friend said. "I haven't got a look at her yet."_

_I froze. The hairs on my neck stood up._

_I knew the voice — it was the voice I hated most in the world._

_It was the voice of interrupted kisses and shadows on the ground and secret hiding places revealed._

_It was Ethan._

" _Arianne!" the officer said. "I've been raving about this place for weeks, and so my friend just had to come see what I was talking about..."_

_I smiled out of habit, but my heart was pounding._

_Yes, my heart was pounding. Ethan's eyes were locked on mine. His mouth hung open in disbelief. And then... an unsettling expression crossed his face, something akin to satisfaction, except darker, more sinister._

_I was trapped. And just like any trapped animal, I had two choices; make a run for it, or continue hiding._

" _You flatter me!" I said. "They're just pastries! Does your friend have a name?"_

" _Go on," the officer said. "Don't be rude."_

" _Bonjour," Ethan said, taking off his hat. "I'm Ethan, I mean, Schütze Le Blanc."_

" _Schütze Le Blanc?" I repeated._

" _Oui," he said, smiling._

_He was both surprised and relieved that I was alive, that much I could see._

" _I'm Arianne," I said. "Enchantée."_

" _Enchanté, Arianne."_

_I moved quickly, keeping my eyes down, focusing every ounce of my will power on my hands, demanding that they do not tremble, demanding that my performance remain flawless and unaffected._

_When I handed the little paper bag over to Ethan, our eyes met again. He slipped the change into my hand and he winked._

_I felt it like a smack in the face._

" _Have a good day, Arianne!" Eyepatch said from the door._

" _Yes, you too!" I called back._

_Ethan lingered at the counter._

" _I'll come back," he said. "Let's talk later."_

_He knows nothing of subtlety! Eyepatch stood in the doorway, watching our every move._

" _Yes, okay," I whispered. "Just go!"_

_He did go, though more conspicuously than I had hoped, and when he returned it was nearly closing time._

_The sun had already slipped behind the jagged rooftops, casting shadows that crawled across the street toward my doorstep._

_He stood there, just inside the door, staring at me, not saying a word, just as he has always done._

_I suppose I should have been scared. I suppose I should have been gentle with him, willing to play nice, but I was not in the mood to play nice._

" _It's late," I said. "I have things to do."_

" _I won't be more than a minute," he said, taking off his soldier's cap._

" _Fine, but I hope you don't mind if I work?"_

_I pushed past him, locked the door and flipped the sign over to "Closed."_

" _Non, non," he said. "I don't mind at all."_

_I pulled all the blinds down, covering up the windows, and when that was done, I turned to face him._

" _It's so good to see you," he said, smiling. "I had feared the worst."_

" _Yes, well..." I said, crossing my arms. "I think I should thank you. You saved my life."_

" _No," he said. "No, it was nothing."_

_We were quiet and the quiet made me nauseous. I was afraid to ask him to leave; I was afraid to ask him to stay. But more than that, I was afraid of the silence between us, because that silence was an affirmation of all the horrible things I had imagined about that night in Rosheim._

" _Delphine…"_

" _Please don't call me that."_

" _D'accord... Arriane, I just wanted to say… I just wanted to tell you that…"_

" _Wait!" I said, raising my hand in the air. "Please think about what you are going to say. Please choose your words carefully."_

" _I…"_

" _Because whatever you say right now, you can't take it back… whatever you say…"_

_I didn't have the strength to finish the sentence, Cosima. My voice wavered and I shut my mouth. I crossed my arms. I took a step back but I was unable to look away from his face._

_Ethan shut his mouth, too. He ran his fingers over the stiff black bill of his cap and he bit at his lip. I saw him thinking. I saw him testing his words out in his mouth. I even even saw his jaw twitch in anticipation._

_I knew the words I wanted to hear, but somehow, I also knew those weren't the words he was quietly agonizing over._

" _Did you see it?" I said. "Did you see them, my mother and father? Laurent? Did you see them with your own eyes?"_

_He nodded his head, just barely._

" _And do you know what happened to them?"_

_He nodded his head again, swallowing hard._

" _And... do I have any reason to hope?"_

_He tilted his head to the side, then looked at the ground, now rotating his hat in his hands._

_It was all the answer I needed. I felt that scream rising up, Cosima, the one that had been threatening my life since the day I first arrived at this bakery. I felt it rising up like the great smouldering flame that it was._

_My hands began to tremble first, but soon I trembled in my very core._

" _Get out," I said, unlocking the door._

" _Delphine," he said._

" _That's not my name! Get out!"_

" _Let me explain!"_

" _Non! Don't say another word! Just get out!"_

_He walked out the door, but then reconsidered. He turned and jammed his boot against the door._

" _Arianne, let me explain, it's not what you think... there was nothing I could do."_

" _Ethan," I said, lowering my voice because the door was open, "you saved my life once, and for that I will forever be indebted to you, but I never want to see you again. Do you understand?"_

" _Alright," he said, stepping away. "But if you change your mind…"_

_I closed the door before he could finish the sentence. I locked it and collapsed right there where I stood, afraid that if I didn't sit down, I might faint._

_He loitered outside the door, knocking tentatively._

" _If you change your mind, I'll be at Le Chiot. It's a bar down on the corner. I'm there most nights, so..."_

_I wanted to scream and bang on the door._

_I know Le Chiot! I wanted to shout. I know Le Chiot! But that's not the real Le Chiot, you bastard! That place is a nightmare!_

" _This entire city is a nightmare," I whispered to myself after he had gone._

_I forced myself to rise. I forced myself to follow the routine. I forced myself to clean up and close out the storefront as I was supposed to, because Aishe was waiting for me downstairs, and she depended on me, and for her sake I had to pull myself together, I to keep everything running smoothly._

_But when I opened the door to the secret room, I found her standing on the desk, reaching her hand out the opened window to pet the head of that damned stray cat._

" _Qu'est-ce que tu fais?!" I shouted._

_She flinched and nearly fell from the desk. The window slammed shut of its own weight, just as the cat hissed and spit and scurried away._

_Aishe froze where she was, half-kneeling on the desk, panic in her eyes._

_Before I even knew what I was doing, I reached for her arm. I grabbed it. I yanked her down._

" _What are you doing?!" I shouted again._

_She was so small and she fell so fast, that for a moment she was dangling like a doll in my hand, her body twisting unnaturally at the shoulder._

_When I saw that, when I realized what I was doing, I dropped her immediately. She scurried under the desk and curled up into a ball, crying out in surprise and confusion, the way only a child can._

" _Oh my God!" I said, kneeling down. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry! Es tut mir leid! Es tut mir leid!"_

_But it didn't matter how many times I repeated the phrase, Cosima, the damage was already done._

_I leaned back against the wall with my head in my hands, and then, for the first time it what must have been years, I let myself cry._

_We both cried — loudly, obnoxiously. We both whimpered the names of the ones we missed the most. And when she kicked her legs on the floor in frustration, I banged my fist on the wall in grief._

_Gradually, our sobs grew quieter and further apart, until finally, I looked up and saw her copper eyes looking back at me. She raised her head and I did, too. She took a deep breath and I did, too. She crawled to where I was, and then, she hugged me, resting her small head on my shoulder._

" _I'm sorry," she said. "Don't be angry at me."_

" _I'm sorry, too," I said._

_I think it's the first time anyone has hugged me in… I can't even remember how long._

_We sat there for a long time. I was exhausted. I could not bring myself to rise from that place. I could not even bring myself to sit at the desk or turn on the radio, and so I missed listening to the evening's dedications, and I missed writing them down in the logbook._

_The thing that finally drove me to stand up were the loud rumblings from Aishe's stomach._

_She is always hungry._

_She eats now as I write this, but I cannot bring myself to eat tonight._

_No, when she is finished, I will take her upstairs, and we will sleep in real beds like real human beings, and hopefully we will dream sweet dreams of the ones we love._

_This is the last little bit of hope I have, to see you in a dream — to see my parents and Laurent — to see everyone I have ever lost._

_Until the morning, my Dandelion._

_Delphine_

* * *

_November 13th, 1943_

_Dear Dandelion,_

_I did not dream of you, but what can I expect? Dandelions don't grow in the autumn. Dandelions are creatures of the summer, creatures of the sunlight, and I have been trapped in this autumn for so many years._

_I try my best to stick to the routine, but lately that very routine feels like a noose; every day I feel it tightening around my neck._

_This morning when I opened the bakery door, I found the mangled corpse of the street cat on the step; its gut hollowed out, its fur shredded in streaks of blood, and its neck twisted at an awful angle._

_I shrank away, barely holding back a shriek. I knew it must have been those dogs and I knew they must have been rewarded with a pat on the back and a warm chuckle._

_I looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of the Gestapo. Still, I didn't want to take any chances. I scooped the corpse up into an old flour sack, unsure whether my actions were motivated by fear, good shopkeeping, or out of respect for the dead animal. Either way, I carried that sack down to the basement, wrapped it in newspapers and set it in the icebox, intending to dispose of it properly after my work was finished._

_But then, Bijou came into the bakery this morning, looking both annoyed and concerned._

" _Why haven't you been handing off the logbook?" she said when there was a lull in the morning business._

" _I've been too tired," I said._

" _Too tired? All you have to do is listen to the radio."_

" _I know, but I don't... I'm just… I don't want to anymore."_

" _You don't want to? People's lives are depending on this, Arianne. You don't get to choose."_

" _Don't you have other people doing it? Redundancies? I can't be the only one. You're smarter than that."_

_She didn't like my tone. I could tell._

" _You better be careful, girl."_

" _Or what? What happens when I'm no longer useful to you, Bijou? What happens then?"_

" _Watch your mouth."_

" _No, I want to know. I want to know what happens to anyone you can't use. What is going to happen to Aishe? What use can you have for a little Gypsy girl?"_

" _Keep your voice down!" Bijou said._

_Just then the housewife came in. Surprisingly, she had nothing to complain about._

" _It's my baby's birthday today! Can you believe it? One year today! Praise the Lord!"_

" _Praise the Lord," I said as I handed over her daily order._

_Bijou watched, and when the woman was gone, she leaned close to my ear._

" _I've come to talk to you about Aishe. You have to pack her things, get her ready to go."_

" _To Sweden?"_

" _Non," Bijou said. "The route to Sweden has been cut off."_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _I mean, I no longer have contacts there."_

_I swallowed as the meaning sunk in. "They're dead?"_

" _Or arrested, or who knows? The point is, we can't send her that way."_

" _So where will she go?"_

" _She will stay in Strasbourg. I know a woman who keeps a safehouse for children. She will be safer there."_

" _Safer? How can she be safer? If she stays in Strasbourg, she will never be safe."_

" _Fine!" Bijou said, slamming her hand down on the counter. "Then we will be safer! Is that what you want to hear? We — you and I — we will be safer when she is gone! Does that make me selfish? Maybe it does! But I have more people to protect than you can even imagine! We can't sacrifice everything for this one child! Pack her things! Make sure she is ready! This is your duty, Arianne! Don't let me down."_

_And so, you see, Cosima, I didn't really have a choice. The noose was closing in around us. The Gestapo dogs were at one end of the rope, pulling, pulling, and Bijou was at the knot, holding us still._

_There was only one other person that I know in this city, only one other person that I could ask for help — Ethan._

_And so, that afternoon, after I closed up the bakery and fed Aishe her lunch, I put on my coat and went outside._

_My heart raced as I headed toward Le Chiot. I thought of all the things I could ask for. I made a list and then I narrowed it down. I knew I only had one chance to ask him a favor, and so I must be very clear on what that favor would be. I knew I was asking a lot, but I didn't except the look of terror in Ethan's eyes when I finally said the words._

_We stood outside Le Chiot, as I could hardly bring myself to step inside the place. I waved from the doorway, getting Ethan's attention, and Bijou's attention, too. She glared at me, but she did not get up from her seat in the back of the room._

_We stood in the alley beside Le Chiot, and he looked terrified, turning away from me slightly and puffing on his cigarette._

" _What you are asking me… it's impossible," he said._

" _Ethan, you saved my life once, and now I'm begging you to help me save the life of this little girl."_

" _It's the Gypsy girl, isn't it? The one that everyone is looking for?"_

" _Oui."_

" _And she's been with you this whole time?" he said, taking off his hat and then putting it back on._

" _Oui."_

" _Delphine, you are in serious danger. I know these guys — they don't give up easily."_

" _That is precisely my point! That is why I need your help. I need papers for her, right away!"_

" _Even if I could get new papers for her — and I'm not saying that I can — who would believe she is your sister? You look nothing alike! A Gypsy and an Alsatian!"_

" _What's that supposed to mean? You've never even seen her!"_

" _I can imagine."_

" _I don't care! This is her only chance, don't you see?"_

" _Why can't Bijou help you? She's the one who got you your new name, isn't she?"_

" _She wants to send her to some safe house, but I don't like the sound of it. I need to get her out of Strasbourg, and maybe even out of France… if I can. But none of that is possible without proper papers."_

_Ethan paced up and down the alley, never taking his cigarette away from his mouth for longer than a moment. He huffed and puffed, and huffed and puffed, before turning to me abruptly._

_At first I misunderstood the optimistic glimmer in his eye. At first, I thought he had every intention of helping me. But then he spoke._

_He said only two words, but each word sounded like tightening rope — each word like one swift tug on the noose._

" _Marry me," he said._

" _What?!"_

" _Marry me, and we can say the girl is our child."_

" _Have you lost your mind?"_

" _It's a good plan! At least I have dark hair… At least someone might believe that she is my child."_

_For a moment — just a moment — I considered his proposal. But as I stared into his dark eyes, I saw no hint of gentle copper. I saw only selfish ambition and greed._

" _Non, Ethan. It's not possible. You look nothing like her."_

" _Don't you see? If we get married, and we get the right papers, then we can leave France, together, as a family!"_

" _You're in the Wehrmacht? How can you leave France?"_

" _There are ways. I've heard of ways."_

" _Non," I said. "Non, it's too risky. We are safer unattached."_

" _Please listen to reason, Delphine."_

" _Don't call me that!" I said, backing away from him._

" _No woman is safer unattached. How far do you think you will make it, a woman traveling alone with a child?"_

_His question closed in on me like a black fog._

" _Where are you going?" he said._

" _I have to get back to the bakery," I said. "I have work to do."_

_He grabbed my arm. He pulled me closer to him, his breath reeking of cigarettes and wine._

" _Think about it," he whispered. "You don't have any other options."_

" _I will," I said as nicely as I could manage. "I will think about it. Please don't say anything about the girl."_

" _Bien sûr," he said, letting go of my arm. "What do you think I am? A monster?"_

_But that's exactly what he is, Cosima._

_And I knew it as soon as I left him in the alley. I hurried back to the bakery, somehow convinced that he had already announced my secret to the entire bar._

_I went straight to the basement, straight the the icebox. I pulled out that dead cat's corpse, and I whispered a prayer of forgiveness for what I was about to do._

_I started at the front door. I removed the newspaper, and then dropped the sack onto the floor, rubbing the thing across the doorstep. It was hard in my hands, like an icy brick, and I knew I had to move fast before it thawed and the blood seeped out through the canvas._

_I started at the front door, scrubbing the floor with the scent of the dead cat, moving up the stairs and away from the basement. I scrubbed the walls of the stairwell, and the handrails, too. I scrubbed the floorboards on the second floor, leading all the way back to Mae's old room. I scrubbed a path across the floor the bed, and then I rubbed the thing all over the mattress, and all over the steam boiler in the corner. Finally, I lifted the old mattress, and carefully turning the flour sack inside out, I set the frozen corpse on the bed frame beneath. I replaced the mattress and made up the bed._

_Let the dogs come now, I thought. Let them tear this place to shreds!_

_I took my pistol and Laurent's lighter with me downstairs._

_And now here I am, waiting, flinching at even the smallest sounds._

_I must make a plan, Cosima. I must make a plan as soon as I can. I don't know where to go, but we can't stay here any longer. If there is anything I have learned from my family, it's that I cannot hesitate._

_I must meet with Bijou tomorrow — if we survive until tomorrow. I must meet with her, and ask for her help this one last time._

_I love you, Cosima! I have always loved you, and I had hoped that through some twist of good fortune you'd be able to find me here, but of course, I was naive._

_I love you, and even if I never see you again, know that you have saved me, if only by giving me a reason to wake up every day._

_I fear that this will be my last letter to you, and even more than that, I fear that you will never read it. But I will sign off anyway, because these letters were always for me, weren't they? These letters were a place to write my name, the one that I wish I had, the one that maybe I could have had in a different world, in a different life._

_I love you,_

_Delphine Niehaus_


	28. Chapter 28

_November 14, 1943_

_Dear Dandelion,_

_Last night was the longest night of my life, but we survived, and here I am, putting words down on paper to prove it. I see my hand. I see the pen and the ink. I feel the page, but still I cannot believe._

_I cannot believe how calm my hand is... how steady._

_But that is the only the smallest of things. It's as though my body — my hands and my feet — have taken over completely, and the rest of me — my head and my heart — they are left behind somewhere. I wonder when they will catch up. Perhaps after a good night's sleep._

_Yes, I think I should sleep well tonight, Cosima. I think I should sleep very well._

_As I said, the last twenty-four hours have been the longest of my short life, and so I don't know where to start in what I'm about to tell you._

_After I set the cat's corpse beneath the mattress upstairs, I returned to the basement with a forced smile. I fed Aishe her dinner and I spoke of a wonderful country called Switzerland. I asked her if she'd ever heard of it. She shook her head no._

" _Well, it is surrounded by beautiful mountains!" I said. "And every city has a chocolate factory, and so every morning the air smells like fresh chocolate, and instead of baguettes and cheese for lunch, little children eat chocolate croissants and chocolate cakes, and then they eat chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert! Can you believe that?!"_

_And she believed me, bless her heart. She believed every word I said. She listened with wide eyes and when I asked if she liked chocolate, she nodded her head, whispering a soft, "Jah."_

" _Perfect! It's all settled then. Tomorrow we will leave for Switzerland!"_

_At that, her joy turned to fear._

" _Oh, but don't worry," I said quickly. "Look, I'm writing a letter right now, and we will leave it for your mama, so that she can find us when she gets back."_

_She sighed._

" _Would you like to help me write it?"_

_And she did help me, Cosima. She sat on my lap and dictated what she wanted me to say. And when she was through, she even signed her own name._

" _Oh! Very pretty!" I said as I set her back onto her feet._

_I folded up the letter and sealed it in an envelope, and I left it up on the desk, prominently displayed against the wall._

" _There!" I said. "There's no way she can miss it now. And when she comes to Switzerland we can buy her all the chocolate she can eat. Does your mama like chocolate, too?"_

" _Jah."_

" _Perfect!"_

_I kneeled down in front of her and held her by the arms._

" _Now, Aishe, listen to me for a moment. I have something important to tell you."_

_She looked into my eyes. She is so trusting, Cosima. Too, too trusting._

_I took a deep breath._

" _Have you ever seen a rat before?" I asked her._

_She nodded._

" _Well, unfortunately, there are rats in our bakery, and people don't want to buy bread from us anymore. So tonight — maybe — some men may have to come to kill all the rats, do you understand?"_

_She nodded._

" _And they will have dogs — loud, barking dogs — but you don't have to be scared because they are just looking for the rats, okay?"_

_She nodded._

" _And whatever you do, you shouldn't shout or cry — no matter how scared you are — because then the dogs get confused, and they can't find the rats very well."_

" _And you can't cry either?" she asked. "Even if you're scared?"_

" _That's right," I said. "I can't cry, either. Even if I'm scared."_

_I swallowed and smiled._

" _The most important thing is for you to stay here and don't come out and be as quiet as you can so that the dogs can do their job. Can you do that?"_

_But even as I said it, my voice began to waiver. I stood up then and turned away, afraid that she might sense some fear. Children can always sense these things, Cosima._

" _Good," I said. "The quieter we are, the faster they can do their job."_

_When I turned back she was already laying down in her nest of blankets._

_She fell asleep quickly, perhaps more quickly than usual. I wondered if it had anything to do with the letter on the table. I cursed myself for not having thought of it before. My letters to you have been such a comfort, and I have left Aishe alone all this time._

_Is it wrong to lie to a child? It can't be any more wrong than lying to myself._

_I watched her sleep for a while, then I moved to the desk, sitting on top of it with my legs tucked up. I pulled the window open just a crack so that I could see out into the dark street._

_The street sounds had an eerie clarity about them. I swear I could hear all the rowdy rumblings at Le Chiot, though it was down on the corner and out of view. I heard men's voices bounce from the storefronts across the street. I heard cars roll past. I heard a muffled sneeze from the depths of someone's home. I heard a woman's laugh and a whisper, then footsteps on the cobblestone._

_And when it was quiet, I heard only air, a presence of space, a claustrophobic openness that was enhanced by the low white clouds._

_Looks like snow, I thought. We'll never make it._

_I reached for the pistol in my pocket. I still had not replaced the bullets. I held the thing in my lap. The metal barrel and trigger were cool, but the wooden plates on the handle were warm. And the way the thing fit into my hand, it's like it was designed to be seductive._

_What good is this, anyway? I thought. What good is it?_

_I lifted it up, my hand on the trigger, the barrel pointed at the wall. I hated the way it felt. It was heavy; much heavier than it looked._

_I tucked it back into my pocket._

_I sat like that a long time, until finally exhaustion won out, and I drifted off despite my anxieties. The thing that woke me was not the dogs, if you can believe it._

_No, the thing that woke me was a much smaller sound. A delicate sound._

_Flick, flick, flick._

_I sat up straight. I heard it again._

_Flick, flick, flick._

_I reached into my pocket and pulled out the lighter. I touched the top of it and it was warm. I clasped it in my palm, certain that if I squeezed it tight enough, it would be silent._

_No sooner had I squeezed the lighter in my hand, that the radios turned on._

_Yes, Cosima, I say radios, because they both turned on at the same time, and our tiny room was suddenly flooded with two songs at once; one in French and the other in English; one upbeat and full of horns, and the other a melancholy tune over swelling strings._

_I froze. I looked at Aishe, but she had barely stirred in her sleep._

_I turned the radios off before they could wake her._

_And that's when I heard them — not the dogs, not yet — but the whispers. Orders to move this way or that. Orders to be quick. Orders to be quiet._

_It was the Gestapo, Cosima. I knew it by their harsh tone, by the jingle of the metal chain leashes in their hands and the tap, tap, tap of paws on the streets._

_The moments after that are a blur, Cosima. I can't be sure exactly what I did, I moved so fast in the dark._

_I remember the shadows on Aishe's face. I remember the way she watched me as I closed the door on her._

" _No crying!" I whispered._

_But I don't remember moving the shelving into place. I don't remember taking off my coat. I don't remember how I managed to scale the stairs so fast and in the dark, all the while hearing those dogs bark and bark until their howls gargled like hisses._

_I don't remember hearing the glass break, but at some point they broke the windows, reached in and unlocked the door._

_It all happened so fast, Cosima. One minute I was down in the basement, and the next I was upstairs in my nightgown, taking a deep breath and launching into the most important performance of my life._

_My only hope was that dog's could be as easily lied to as children could._

" _Just what do you think you are doing?!" I shouted as I turned on the bedroom light._

" _Cut the act," Dupin said, arriving on the landing. "Where is she? We know she's here."_

" _For the last time! There's no one here! Can't you leave me in peace?!" I said, covering my chest with my arms._

" _We got a tip. We know she's here."_

_Though he spoke calmly, behind him the dogs went wild, pulling their leashes this way and that. Their wet noses ran along the wall, along the floorboards. Their ears stood erect and their mouths hung open, their long pink tongues hanging out in ecstasy at the scent._

" _Impossible. From who?" I said._

" _Wouldn't you like to know," Dupin said._

_The dogs dragged the officers toward Mae's room._

" _There's no one here!" I shouted._

_Dupin grabbed my arm. He dragged me down the hall._

" _We'll find out soon, won't we?" he growled._

_I resisted, of course. I had to._

" _Let go of me! You'll find nothing here!"_

_But he held me still at the door to Mae's room. The dogs scratched and clawed at the bed. The officers ordered them to heel, then looked at Dupin for direction. Dupin flicked his chin, and one officer pulled out an enormous knife; a knife as big as my father's — the one he used to skin game sometimes._

" _What's wrong, Mademoiselle?" Dupin said, watching my face closely. "Are you scared?"_

_The officer raised the knife up over his head, and holding it with two hands, he brought it straight down into the foot of the mattress. The other watched on with the dog leashes clutched in his fist._

" _Non," I said. "But it's a waste of a good mattress."_

_The officer stabbed at the mattress several more times with a focused and hungry smirk on his face. When he reached the head of the mattress, he tore the pillow away, plunged the knife in, and then, rather than pulling the thing out, he dragged it toward the foot of the bed, tearing right through the middle of the mattress, dragging a trail of feathers and cotton along with it._

_When he finally pulled the knife out, he examined it's tip. A feather was stuck to it, caught up in the sticky red blood on the the blade. The officer smiled._

_And even though I knew, Cosima, even though I knew it was only the corpse of a cat, I could not help but hate him._

" _I don't understand," I said. "There's nothing there!"_

" _Your dedication is admirable," Dupin said. "Turn the mattress!"_

_The officer did as he was told, and when the mattress was tipped onto it's side and pulled away from the frame, the dead cat's corpse was revealed._

_I only hoped they wouldn't examine it closer, wouldn't realize the thing was still half-frozen._

" _What is that?!" Dupin shouted._

" _It looks like a cat," the officer said._

" _A cat?! A cat?!"_

_"It must have come in from the cold," I said._

_Dupin dragged me through the entire house after that! He held fast to my arm as they tore anything and everything from the shelves. They opened the ovens and the icebox and they threw the contents onto the floor. But all the while the dogs fought against them, barking wildly, pulling them back toward the stairs, until finally Dupin let loose and kicked one square in the ribs._

_It yelped in surprise._

" _We are not looking for a cat, you stupid piece of shit! We are looking for a little girl!"_

_The other officers charged Dupin, one shoving him hard against the shoulder. He reeled back against the wall, releasing my arm._

" _Hey!" the officer shouted. "What do you think you're doing?!"_

_I took a step away._

_Dupin didn't answer. He shrugged his shoulders and straightened his coat._

" _It's time to go," the officer said. "There's nothing here."_

" _She's here!" Dupin shouted. "I know it!"_

" _Then you stay."_

_And just as fast as they had arrived, the dogs were gone._

_Dupin turned to me._

" _Don't you think for a moment that this is over. Tell Bijou I'll be back."_

" _D'accord. It's my pleasure."_

_But I didn't tell Bijou, Cosima. I had intended to, of course, but life is full of unfulfilled intentions, isn't it?_

_I went back up to the bedroom and sat in my bed. I dared not go to the basement, not right away. I waited until I saw the smallest hint of sun outside my window, then, before it got too bright outside, I ran down the basement, gathered up our things — our coats, the gun, the lighter, some food, and yes, of course, your letters — and I opened up the suitcase from which Aishe had unfolded herself all those weeks ago._

_Much to my surprise, she climbed in before I even had the chance to ask her to. Apparently, this was a ritual she was used to, and if our situation hadn't been so urgent, the realization might have been horrifying, but in that moment, it came as a relief._

" _It won't be long, I swear," I said._

_She nodded her head, and pulled the top down on herself. If she could have, I think she would have zipped herself in, too._

_The bakery was in shambles and I didn't care. I stepped right over the shards of glass at the front door and right out into the gray morning._

_When I arrived at Le Chiot, it must have been close to six-thirty in the morning, but when I opened the door, there was still a handful of patrons, most of which were soldiers in various states of disheveled intoxication. There were a few women, too, some with dark circles under their eyes, and others just as drunk as their soldier friends._

_But when I looked to the back of the room, there was no Bijou._

_I stepped to the bar and asked the bartender._

" _It's late," he said. "She left about two hours ago."_

" _Two hours?" I said. "When do you think she will be back?"_

_He shrugged his shoulder. "Not for a long while, I assume."_

_That's when I realized how little I actually knew about the woman. I didn't know where she lived. I didn't know how to reach her. I didn't even know her real name. I had always assumed this is just how things were done, for everyone's protection._

_But as I stood at the bar, holding that suitcase, surrounded by Nazis, I wondered who was the one being protected._

" _Alright, well, if you see her, tell her… sorry about the mess."_

_He nodded his head without looking at me._

_I turned around at exactly the wrong moment, Cosima._

_I turned around just as one particularly drunk soldier raised his head up from where he had laid it on the table. He face was red. His hat was off. His companion leaned her chin on her hand and dozed next to him._

_He blinked several times, adjusted the eyepatch that had slipped up to his forehead. His good eye landed on my face and he smiled._

" _Arianne!" he shouted. "The prettiest girl in all of Alsace!"_

_The woman next to him also woke up, her eyes shooting open._

" _What brings you here at this hour?" he said._

" _I came to speak to Bijou," I said. "I really must find her."_

_I tried to step away, but he stood up, moving faster than a drunk should, and his arm landed heavy across my shoulders._

" _Nonsense."_

_Then he noticed the suitcase._

" _Are you going somewhere?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Oh, really?"_

" _A little trip, that's all."_

" _To where?"_

" _To my home town," I said._

_I don't know why I said it. It was the first thing that came to my mind._

" _And where's that?"_

" _Rosheim."_

" _Rosheim?!" he said. "Schütze Le Blanc is from Rosheim, isn't he?"_

" _I don't know," I said, realizing my terrible mistake. "I have to go."_

" _But the buses won't leave for hours. You'd better stay here and have a drink with me and my friends… ehm, friend."_

_At that his companion smiled and waved, but I could see she wanted nothing to do with me._

" _Oh, no, I couldn't," I said. "I really must find Bijou before I leave."_

" _Nonsense," he said, reaching for the suitcase._

_I did my best to hold onto it, Cosima, but he was much stronger than me, and I didn't want to cause a scene._

_He carried it to his table and pulled up a chair for me. I didn't know what to do, Cosima. He sat the suitcase down on the other side of the table. There was no way to reach for it. I could only hope that he'd fall asleep again soon._

" _Rosheim," he said, his voice nostalgic._

" _You've been there?" I asked._

" _Once, yes," he said. Then his eye lit up._

" _Oh, no," his companion said. She rolled her eyes. "Here it comes."_

" _Did I ever tell you the story about this?" he said, pointing to the eyepatch._

" _Non," I said. "Of course not."_

" _Well, when I enlisted in the SS, when I was going through training, my commander told me that I had the best sense of smell in the whole company."_

" _I don't understand," I said. I kept one eye on the suitcase._

" _Because I love food so much! You know that! I love food so much, so every afternoon while we were out in the quad doing our training exercises, I could smell what they were cooking up for us in the kitchen. I could smell it in the air as if someone had written it out like a menu."_

" _Uh-huh," I said, barely able to make sense out of his sloppy words._

" _I'd say, I smell beef, carrots, and porridge! And do you know what we'd eat that night?"_

" _Beef, carrots and porridge?" I said._

" _Hurry up and get to the point," the woman said, lighting a cigarette._

" _Anyway," he went on. "I was so good at it, that eventually my training officer started calling me Le Basset, can you believe that?! Le Basset?!"_

_He laughed wildly at his own nickname. I looked at the woman and she shrugged._

" _Come on," she said. "No one wants to hear this story."_

" _Arianne does, don't you?"_

_He looked in my direction, but his eye was far from focused. He was getting tired._

" _Oui," I said. "Please go on."_

" _So then, since I was already Le Basset, some of the guys started to joke, 'I bet you can smell a Jew! I bet you can smell a communist! I bet you can smell a fairy!' And of course, it wasn't true, Arianne. It was all just a joke. But whether it was a joke or not, it kind of became my job."_

" _What?"_

" _Sniffing out those types," he said. "You know, undesirables."_

" _I see," I said._

_He sat up then and squinted at me._

" _I know what you're thinking," he said._

" _What's that?"_

" _You're thinking, what does this have to do with Rosheim?"_

_I swallowed hard. I looked away._

" _Actually, I wasn't thinking much of anything," I lied._

" _Well, I'll tell you. After a few years, I was put in charge of the apprehension of deserters. Now, I know that no one believes that I can smell such people, but the name Le Basset didn't hurt my reputation, and let's just say I have a certain sixth sense about these things."_

" _You aren't even making any sense," the woman said, leaning once again onto her palm. "Get to the point."_

" _I followed one such deserter all the way from the eastern front to you know where…" he said with a mischievous smile._

_Goosebumps rose up on my neck. It was starting to sound familiar._

" _I followed him all the way from Russia to Rosheim, and boy, was he a clever one. He really took his time, zig-zagging his way across Austria. And I nearly lost his trail twice, but in the end, I got to Rosheim not much later than he did."_

" _Wow," I said._

_"Yes! And perhaps it was all meant to be, because by the time we caught up with him, he had led us right to his front door, right to his family, which you know, saved us a lot of paper work for later."_

_"His family?"_

_"Yes."_

_At that moment I became two people, Cosima. Or rather, I was split right down the middle. Half of me wanted to stand up, back away, make my exit and never step foot in that place again. The other half of me was slowly boiling with questions, sickening questions that burned the back of my throat like bile._

_"What was his name?" I said. "The deserter?"_

_"You know what? I don't even remember!"_

_"And this deserter? He did that to your eye?"_

_"Non," said the woman. "He did it to himself! Le Basset. Give me a break!"_

_"Shut up! You are ruining the best part of the story!"_

_He turned his good eye back to me and he leaned close._

_"This," he said, pointing to his scar. "This was not the little fairy; this was the father."_

_"The father?"_

_"Yes, the little fairy was a coward, as most fairies are, and so he made a run for it as soon as he saw me. Just like that, right into the vineyards, abandoning his own family. Naturally, I pulled my gun. I aimed it... and I was about to shoot..."_

_He watched my face, playing the story for the most suspense possible._

_"And then?" I said._

_"And then the father hit me in the arm with the barrel of his rifle. My gun fell to the ground and slid away. And that is when I grabbed his gun! I grabbed it right out of his hands, that bastard! I had tracked that little fairy all the way across Austria! For weeks! Only to lose him again in some vineyards? No, sir! I grabbed that rifle right out of the old man's hands and I pointed it right at his face, and I said, "I hope your fairy son was worth it!" and that's when I pulled the trigger...pow!"_

_I jumped, but the other woman just rolled her eyes._

_"You killed him?" I whispered._

_"Non!" he said, falling over onto the table in a fit of laughter. "Non! That god damn rifle backfired right into my eye!"_

_The woman puffed on her cigarette, speaking in a flat tone, "And you fell to the ground, howling like a dog. Jah, jah, I've heard it a million times and I still don't know why it's so funny?"_

_"It's funny because my name is Le Basset!" he said. He looked at me. "Get it? Le Basset? I howled like a dog?"_

_"Oui," I said. "Oui, I think so."_

_Beneath the table, I saw the suitcase stir. I knew I had to get Aishe out of there, and I knew I had to do it fast. But the questions had to be answered._

_I leaned forward._

_"And the old man?" I said. "What happened to him?"_

_"The old man? Well, let's see, while I rolled on the ground, completely useless, my colleagues took care of him... and the woman, too."_

_"Took care of them?"_

_"Yes, you know, took care of them."_

_"And the deserter, did you ever catch up to him?"_

_"Non, I was rushed to hospital and by the time I got out, well, the trail had gone cold. I don't do much tracking these days. Not with the bad eye. In some ways, it's the best thing that ever happened to me. I mean, now I get to stay in Strasbourg... far from the front... eat chocolate croissants every morning... and look upon this lovely face every night. At least I've still got one eye for that, right darling?"_

_He reached for the woman's hand. She didn't pull away._

_"Always a silver lining, right?" he said, looking into her eyes._

_"Right," she said. "That's right."_

_While he was distracted, I stood up, grabbed the suitcase and backed away, certain that with every moment I was turning a paler and paler shade of white._

_"What's the rush?" he said. "I talked your ear off and didn't even offer you a drink. Please stay for one drink."_

_"Non, non. I really have to go. Someone is waiting for me, I think. Someone I haven't seen a very long time."_

_"Then, at least let me help you get a taxi."_

" _Non, non, that's not necessary," I said._

_But he grabbed the suitcase from me one more time and he led me out into the cool morning. And as we walked to the main avenue it started to snow._

" _Would you look at that?" he said with the whimsy of a child. "First snow of the year!"_

" _Yes," I said. "It's beautiful."_

_But it wasn't beautiful, Cosima. It was a death sentence._

" _What do you have in this bag?" he said, shifting it from one hand to the other._

" _Presents," I said. "For my family."_

" _What kind of presents? Anvils?"_

" _Porcelain for my mother," I said. "An almanac for my father."_

_I didn't mention my brother. Somehow I couldn't._

" _Well, it certainly feels like it."_

_A taxi rolled up to the curb, and I took the suitcase from his hand._

" _I'll take it from here," I said, unable to face him. "We must be gentle with the porcelain."_

" _Right, of course."_

" _Merci," I said as I hoisted the suitcase into the back seat._

" _Hey, don't stay away too long. I think I'll die without your croissants every morning."_

" _Somehow, I think you'll survive," I said._

_He closed the door and waved as we pulled off. He waved warmly, as if we were old intimates from our schoolhouse days. Of course, he had no idea how intimate we really were. What is more intimate than death, after all?_

_In the back seat of the taxi, I dared not open the suitcase. No, I dared not even touch the zipper, horrified that if I unzipped the thing, I'd also unzip myself, and all of my screams and tears would uncurl themselves, and we'd both be exposed. No, despite our discomfort, we had to keep it zipped up for a little while longer._

_It was only after we arrived at the bus station, only after I had two tickets to Rosheim in my hand, that I carried the suitcase to the bathroom, unzipped it and pulled Aishe up into my arms, whispering my praise at her bravery._

" _You never have to get into that suitcase again," I said._

_I pulled my own hat over her hair, and I wrapped my own scarf around her face. And when we sat down on the bench outside, no one paid us much attention. And when the bus pulled into the station, we climbed on it, hand in hand — just like that._

_And that is how I returned to Rosheim, Cosima; on an ordinary bus, on a snowy November morning._

_Aishe slept with her head in my lap, but I could not sleep. I knew that returning home was a risk, but it was a risk I had to take. Laurent was still alive; I just knew it. And before I could leave to Switzerland, I had to return home, if only briefly, to find any clue as to where he might have gone._

_But as it turns out, I didn't have to look very far._

_No, as Aishe and I approached the house, as we walked up the hill, there were signs everywhere. There was the shovel, stuck in the ground and standing straight up, snow gathering on the handle. There was the axe, tangled up in the twisted branches of a vine, and next to it were other vines, each one hacked into or mangled or laid out in shreds on the ground._

_And then, closer to the house, there were two crosses made of scrap wood. They stood, side by side on the top of the hill, just like two neighbors come to welcome us home._

_I knew they were graves right away, and I knew who had dug them._

_I was so captivated by those crosses, that I didn't notice the barbed wire that had been carefully laid across the road. That is, not until it got caught around the toe of my shoe. I shook myself free, picked Aishe up in my arms, and stepped carefully over it._

_And when I had set her down on the other side, we were standing right at the threshold of my house. The door was open, just a crack, but no lights were on._

" _Stay here," I said to Aishe._

_I stepped forward, with one hand in my pocket and the other on the door. I pushed it open._

_Inside, the house was dark._

" _Laurent?" I whispered. "Hello?"_

_I took another step into the entryway, and another, until the entryway opened up into the kitchen, and that's when I heard it — the cocking of the hammer._

_I turned slowly to find myself at the barrel end of a rifle, and at the other end was Laurent._

" _Who are you?" he said._

_He was almost unrecognizable, Cosima. His hair had grown out in wild, tangled patches that were dark with oil and stuck to his forehead. His cheeks and mouth were hidden behind a beard that was matted and frayed. He was thin, as thin as a scarecrow that had lost all its straw. His clothes hung from his bony frame._

_And when he spoke he spat._

" _Who are you?!" he said again. "What are you doing here?"_

_But his eyes, Cosima, I'd recognize his eyes anywhere._

" _It's me, Laurent. It's Delphine."_

" _Bullshit!" he spat. "Delphine is dead!"_

" _See with your own eyes," I said. "I'm right here."_

" _It's a trick!" he said. "It's a trick! Go away you devil! I don't believe you! I don't believe you!"_

_He screamed with his whole body, leaning forward on his tippy toes, tears in his eyes._

_I took a step away. This man before me, he may have had Laurent's eyes, but maybe he wasn't Laurent after all, at least not the Laurent I knew._

" _D'accord!" I said. "D'accord! I'm leaving."_

" _Wait!" he said. "Don't move!"_

_I froze._

" _How do I know you won't come back again?"_

" _I won't," I said. "I'll leave right now and never come back."_

" _But how do I know?" he said, emphasizing the last word. "How do I know this isn't another one of your tricks?"_

_I didn't know what to say to that, Cosima. I stammered._

" _Because... I promise," I said._

" _Liar!" he shouted. "You're already dead and dead girls don't make promises. Only devils make promises."_

_And that's when it happened, Cosima. That's when he pulled the trigger._

_I hardly would have known, had it not been for that delicate little sound — the sound of his finger on the trigger, the sound of him pulling it again and again._

_Click, click, click._

_But the rifle wasn't loaded! He would have shot me but the rifle wasn't loaded!_

_Angry — indignant! — I knocked the thing from his hands. It slid beneath the kitchen table._

_He lunged at me then, knocking me to the floor. He pinned me onto the ground, with his hands around my neck. He shouted about devils and tricksters, his tears and spit dripping onto my face. I struggled beneath him, I punched at his arms and ribs, but I could not match his fury. I could not even call for Aishe. I could not even warn her to run._

_I couldn't breathe! The edges of my vision faded to black. The world was tunneling into darkness, and at the end of it was Laurent's wild, hissing face._

_I was desperate. If I didn't stop him, I knew he would kill me._

_I fumbled in my pocket. I pulled out the pistol. I grasped it in my fist._

_I swung my arm, landing a punch right under his chin. His whole head flew back at an awful angle, and he fell off of me, landing in a slouch against the wall. And he stayed like that, unmoving for so long, that I thought I had broken his neck._

_I scurried away, gasping for air and rubbing at my own neck. I pointed the pistol at him, even though it wasn't loaded._

_But he just sat there, staring with his eyes wide open, though what he was staring at, I couldn't be sure._

_I stood up, the pistol trembling in my hands. My knuckles ached from the hit._

" _Laurent?" I said. "I'm no devil."_

_He didn't look at me. He looked far off, as if he could see right through the walls, as if he could see all the way to Switzerland._

" _I'm no devil, you hear me?" I said. "I'm your sister, Delphine. And I'm alive. And you're alive, too."_

" _Non, non!" he shouted, grabbing at his hair with his fists. "Non! It's a trick!"_

" _Look!" I said. "I can prove it!"_

_I reached into my pocket and pulled out his lighter. I prayed that it would work, just this once._

" _Look!" I said, holding it up. "It's your lucky lighter, remember?"_

_He looked at my hand but not into my eyes. I flicked the top of the lighter, but it only threw sparks._

_Flick, flick, flick._

" _It's a trick," he whispered between tears._

" _Non! Look!"_

_I flicked it one more time, and the flame erupted suddenly, quietly._

_Everything became still save for the gentle movements of the flame in the air. We both became still, not moving, not breathing, both of us transfixed by it's glow._

_I watched his eyes. I watched his confusion melt away in the face of the flame, until finally he looked at me and he smiled._

" _Delphine?" he said._

" _Oui."_

" _You're not dead?"_

" _No more than you are."_

_He touched himself then, clutching at his own chest._

" _No, I'm not dead."_

_Just then, Aishe pushed open the door. It squeaked and we both turned toward her._

" _Who is that?" Laurent said quietly._

" _This is my friend, Aishe," I said. "We are going to go to Switzerland. Do you want to come with us?"_

" _To Switzerland?"_

" _Oui."_

" _To Switzerland?" he repeated, looking away._

_He stood up, leaning against the wall, then he turned away from me, with his hand on his forehead._

" _I don't know," he said with his back to me. "Let me think about it."_

" _Sure," I said, watching him go._

" _Let me think about it. Let me...think..."_

_He climbed the stairs — slowly, deliberately. I tracked his movements with the pistol, until finally he disappeared on the landing. I listened as he went to his room and closed the door behind himself._

_Aishe and I were left in the entryway. She grabbed my hand and I winced. She was hungry. And so we sat at the dusty kitchen table and we ate the few snacks that I had._

_That's when I noticed how filthy the house was. There were broken wine bottles everywhere, and plates full of rotten food. There were leaves blown in from the wind. There were old newspapers and books strewn about. I would have started cleaning right then and there, but I had a strong instinct to remain quiet._

_I took Aishe to the bookshelf in the sitting room, and I showed her where the storybooks were on the bottom shelves. Then I laid myself out on the sofa, my muscles trembling in aftershocks of horror. I clutched that pistol to my chest. I reached up and hid my face beneath the crook of my elbow, and I cried the most silent tears I've ever cried, careful to not let Aishe hear._

_I cried myself to sleep, one half of my heart crying out in grief, the other half in relief. I was finally home, and yet, I was the furthest from home I'd ever been._

_I shivered and shivered until I fell asleep._

_I dreamed awful dreams; awful not because the dreams were bad, but because they were happy; awful because you were there, and my parents, too; awful because I could almost hear your voices, could almost see your silhouettes walking through the house, could almost smell the bonfire in the distance, could almost taste my mother's cooking and my father's wine; awful because I could see my father's shadow standing at the radio, his hand on the dial; awful because when turned to me, he didn't say a word, he only smiled, turned the radio on, and then walked away before I could speak to him._

_I woke up calling his name._

_"Father!" I said, sitting straight up on the couch._

_Aishe looking at me, with her bottom lip turned out._

_"Bad dreams?" she said._

_"Oui," I said._

_The radio was on, Cosima, if you can believe it. The radio was on, and though the volume was low, I could make out the English lyrics just barely... something about stars._

_"Aishe," I said. "Did you turn the radio on?"_

_She shook her head._

_"Then who did?"_

_She shrugged her shoulders._

_"Well, how long has it been on?" I asked._

_She shrugged her shoulders again._

_I stood up. I walked to the radio. I meant to turn it off, but in my haze, I turned the volume up. I looked at the dial and it was set to the BBC French service. Of course, I knew the station frequency very well._

_"Crush every rose," the singer crooned, "hush every prayer."_

_I thought the song sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it._

_"Break every vow, do it now," she sang on._

_I found my hand lingering on the volume knob. I turned to Aishe, but she was already back at her play._

_"I know I can't go on without you, shake down the stars."_

_I whispered the last line to myself, just as the announcer came in over the outro._

_"Alright my loyal listeners," he said. "That is our last song for tonight's dedications. That one comes from Dandelion to her beloved Hans, and if those names don't sound familiar to you, then you haven't been listening to the show for the past week, have you? Yes, it's the same Dandelion who has been sending out those dedications every night this week, bringing new meaning to the word, 'loyal,' am I right? I just hope this Hans bloke, whereever he is, appreciates what he's got. That was 'Shake Down the Stars' by Ella Fitzgerald, dedicated to Hans with one more note: 'Dear Hans, It's been so long since I've seen your face, but I have great news. Let's just say I will see you soon, so please wait for me — signed, Dandelion.' Oh, well, isn't that just sweet? And on that note, thanks for tuning in. You can find us here again tomorrow night..."_

_I turned the radio off. I stepped back with my hand on my chest. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe._

_Was it really you, Cosima? Was it really you? Are you really alive? And are you really coming, after all this time?_

_Shake down the stars, that's what the song said. And in hearing it I have realized that I haven't seen the stars in years. I have been hiding from them this whole time!_

_But tonight, sitting at my desk, in my old room, I have pulled open the window despite the cold. The snow stopped hours ago, and so, even from where I sit, I can see the stars. I can see all of them, and I know you can see them, too!_

_All is not well here, Cosima. No, things are far from well. But Aishe is asleep, Laurent is quiet, and we are all safe, for the time being._

_Of course, I will wait for you, you stupid girl. I have never stopped waiting for you._

_However, I must admit, I'm afraid that you will hardly recognize me. I hardly feel like the girl you once loved. At the moment, I hardly feel anything at all, save for a distant hope; a hope as distant and as unwavering as the stars, that someday soon, I will see your face._

_Perhaps I will feel more like myself in the morning. Perhaps my heart will finally catch up with me then._

_I love you, Cosima. Please don't be shocked when you see me, or this house, or the state of my family. Please love me back as you always have._

_Exhausted and elated,_

_Delphine_


	29. Chapter 29

November 1943

Just as I had done for months, I woke up before the sun. I slipped from my bed, careful not to wake Aishe, stepping very deliberately around the room on my tippy toes, still remembering the most quiet path across the floorboards.

Just as I had done for months, I got dressed. I opened my wardrobe, shocked to see so many dresses, so many shirts, so many sweaters. I pulled out the dress I had worn on the day I met Cosima. It was too cold for a summer dress, but I wore two sweaters to compensate. I regarded myself in the mirror. I wondered if she'd recognize me. Because though my hair was neat and my clothes were straight, I hardly seemed to recognize myself at all.

I sighed, and then, just as I had done for years, I tucked one of Cosima's letters close to my chest, having decided weeks ago that I should rotate them, so as not to have them all fall to pieces at the same time.

I went downstairs and started my work.

I started in the kitchen, the place that seemed to have taken the brunt of Laurent's frustrations and neglect. I swept up the broken glass, the shards of porcelain plates, the shredded pages of old newspapers, the dust and the leaves. I swept them up into the dustpan and I dumped them into the trash, collecting all the chaos into one place, containing it for the time being, and removing it from sight.

I scoured the sink and the countertops, finding in the process, a heel of bread, a potato that had started to send out shoots, a bit of moldy cheese, and two eggs.

I wondered where they had come from. They were in varying degrees of decay, with the eggs still looking quite fresh. I set them aside in a bowl, and when I had finished cleaning up the rest of the kitchen I returned to them.

I cut the baguette into cubes and set the pieces to soak in the raw eggs. Then I cut away the mold from the cheese and I peeled away the shoots from the potato. Finally, I fried it all together in a pan.

And just as I had expected, I heard footsteps on the stairs within minutes of turning on the stove. I could tell by the weight of them that they belonged to Laurent, but when I turned around, I was surprised to see Aishe already sitting expectantly at the table.

I jumped at the sight of her.

Apparently I wasn't the only one who could move soundlessly across the rickety old floorboards.

"How long have you been there?" I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

Laurent stepped into the kitchen and much to my relief, he had trimmed his beard. He had cut his hair, too, and slicked it back with pomade. There was no sign of the madman that had climbed the stairs the day before.

"Bon jour," I said. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished," he said.

I divided the eggs into three meager portions, and set the plates on the table.

Laurent sat down, avoiding my gaze, and I sat down, too. Before he ate he crossed himself — a thing I'd never seen him do — and he whispered a prayer so quietly that I couldn't make out the words.

We ate in silence, save for the sound of our smacking lips, so it came as quite a surprise when there was a knock at the door.

I froze, daring not even to finish chewing the food in my mouth.

Laurent looked up, raising his finger to his lips, indicating the need for absolute silence.

There was another knock, this time softer, only three gentle taps of a knuckle.

Laurent's posture relaxed, just barely. He stood slowly and stepped to the door, pressing his ear to it. He stood like that for a long time, just listening, and then, when I thought I'd choke on the food in my mouth, he cracked open the door.

Every muscle in my body tensed. I was ready to run.

But then he smiled and pulled the door open. He picked something up off the ground.

Much to my surprise, when Laurent returned to the kitchen, he held a large bowl in his hands. He set it on the table and pulled off the kitchen towel that covered it, revealing four eggs and a bottle of fresh milk.

"From who?" I said.

"Lumiere."

"Madame Lumiere?"

"Non, Monsieur Lumiere. Madame Lumiere is not with us any longer."

"Not with us?" I said.

I could hardly believe it.

"She passed only a few weeks after mother and father."

"How?"

"A sickness, I think. I'm not sure. I only know because I saw the grave."

I swallowed hard, remembering the two white crosses in front of our own house.

"I see," I said.

"I'm still hungry," Aishe said.

"How about some milk?" Laurent said. "Doesn't that sound good...ehm..."

Laurent looked to me.

"Aishe," I said.

"Doesn't that sound good, Aishe?"

Laurent pulled three glasses down from the cupboard, and Aishe watched him with unblinking eyes. When he moved close to her, when he leaned to set her glass down, she scrambled under the table and clutched at my legs.

"It's okay," I said. "This is my brother, Laurent. We can trust him."

But even though she stood up, showing her face from below the table, she stayed between my legs, leaning her head back into my stomach as far as she could.

"She doesn't speak French," I said.

"Right, of course," Laurent said. "Ehm...something in German...Bäcker Braun bäckt braune Brezeln. Braune Brezeln bäckt Bäcker Braun."

_Baker Brown bakes brown pretzels. Brown pretzels bakes baker Brown._

Aishe laughed and reached for the glass of milk, but I was pretty certain that Laurent had no idea what he was saying.

Encouraged, Laurent went on, spouting the tongue twisters I had taught him in order to impress the German boys at Le Chiot.

"Ehm...Fischers Fritz ißt frische Fische, frische Fische ißt Fischers Fritz."

_Fischer's Fritz eats fresh fish, fresh fish eats Fischer's Fritz._

Aishe laughed again.

And for a moment we were happy. For a moment the room was filled with laughter, and the sky was filled with stars, and my mind was empty of fear.

But it was only a moment.

"Graben Grabengräber Gruben? Graben Grubengräber Gräben?" he went on. "Nein! Grabengräber graben Gräben. Grubengräber graben Gruben."

_Do gravediggers dig ditches? Do ditchdiggers dig graves? No! Gravediggers dig graves. Ditchdiggers dig ditches._

Aishe laughed again, squirming in my lap and sipping at her milk. Laurent laughed, too, spitting the words out so fast that I had almost forgotten their meaning. I smiled despite the sour feeling in my stomach.

There was another knock at the door.

"I'll get it," I said, standing.

I thought it was Lumiere returning with more milk.

But then there was a second knock, more aggressive than the first.

"Delphine? It's me, Ethan."

I spun around, motioning wildly for Laurent to run. He scooped Aishe up into his arms. She would have screamed, but he covered her mouth with his hands. In a moment they were gone up the stairs.

"Delphine," Ethan repeated through the door. "I know you're in there. I can see the light."

"Ethan," I said. "You shouldn't have come."

"I just want to talk," he said.

"I don't want to talk. I want you to leave."

"But I have good news!"

"Unless it's papers for Aishe then I don't want to..."

"It's even better than that!"

"What?"

"Can you please let me in, so we don't have to shout about this through the door."

"No one can hear us."

"Delphine… I mean, Arianne..."

"If you don't have the papers, then I don't want to talk to you. Go away!"

"I have the papers!" he said. "I have them right here!"

I relented, pulling open the door, just the slightest.

"Hand them through the door," I said.

"Can't I come in?"

"No. If you have the papers, then just give them to me. If not, leave."

"It's more complicated than that," he said, taking the pack off of his back.

That's when I noticed that he wasn't in his uniform at all. He was in his plain clothes; a knit cap on his head, a heavy coat on his back, and thick wool trousers on his legs. But I recognized his black soldier's boots and they gave me chills. Over his shoulders he carried a traveling pack, and this is the pack that he had set on the doorstep.

He opened his bag and pulled out a thick envelope of documents. I felt butterflies. I wanted to reach out and grab the thing from him and slam the door in his face.

"Here," he said, holding the envelope out. "I've got everything right here. But some things I have to explain, if you'll just let me in."

"D'accord," I said. "But only for a minute. You will scare the girl."

We stepped into the kitchen, and to my horror, there were still three plates and three glasses of milk on the table. I moved as quickly as possible to the clear them away before he noticed.

"Say what you have to say," I said, standing a the sink with my back to him.

I heard him set the envelope on the table. I heard him pull the papers out. I heard him shuffle through them.

"There are a lot of documents here proving that the girl is your sister, and that you are her legal guardian, just like you asked."

"That's wonderful!" I said, turning around.

"But they are incomplete. You will have to sign them. If you will just sit down, then we can go through them together."

And though Ethan looked innocent, though there was a spark of joyfulness in his eyes, I couldn't shake my sour feeling.

_Do gravediggers dig ditches?_

"No," I said.

"No?"

He looked at me, confused and more than a little incredulous.

"No," I said again. "I want you to leave the documents here, and I'll look them over alone. You can pick them up in a few days."

"But we don't have a few days," he said with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"What do you mean, _we?_ " I said.

He stared at me, tight-lipped.

"Look," he said, pointing at himself. "I'm ready to go right now. I pulled some strings, but we only have a few days."

"Ready to go where?" I said, feeling sicker and sicker.

"To Switzerland, like you wanted," he said, circling his finger in the air. "You and me and the girl."

I took a step back.

_Do ditchdiggers dig graves?_

"I told you, Ethan. I don't think that will work."

"But it's already done," he said. "I already told my commanding officer that I'm married. I've got three days for our honeymoon. That's three days to get a head start before anyone will know I'm missing."

"Three days?!" I said. "Honeymoon?! Have you lost your mind?!"

"Look!" he said, pointing harshly at the document. "I did what you wanted. She is your sister. It says so right here! You are the legal guardian. I will have no rights to her."

"That's not the point! The point is I won't marry you!"

"But I can save you! You and the girl!"

_Nein!_

"We don't need you to save us!"

"Oh, please be realistic, Delphine," he said harshly. "I think if I was you, I'd take whatever chance I had. There are a lot of bad men in this world, and those who would be more than happy to take advantage of any mademoiselle with no family and no connections, let alone a child."

As he spoke I forced myself to stare at his face, though I hated his face. But I made myself to stare into his eyes, never faltering in my gaze, because if I happened to look up, even just once, I would have given away Laurent's position.

He moved along the wall behind Ethan, never once making a peep on the floorboards. Once he reached the end of the wall, he crossed the entryway to the front door.

_Gravediggers dig graves._

"Well," I said. "You're right about one thing...there are a lot of bad men in the world."

Ethan sighed as Laurent reached for the rifle.

"I'm glad you can listen to reason," Ethan said, pushing a document toward me. "Now you just have to sign here…"

"I'm not finished," I said.

"No?" he said, looking up.

Laurent approached — slowly, quietly — behind him.

"No," I said.

"Well, spit it out then. We really have to hurry."

"What I wanted to say is...you're wrong about the other thing."

"What other thing?"

_Ditchdiggers dig ditches._

"I'm not alone," I said, watching as Laurent raised the butt end of the rifle up. "I've got family."

"Oh, yeah?" Ethan said with an incredulous laugh. "Where?"

"Right here!" Laurent said, slamming the butt of the rifle down against the base of Ethan's skull.

Ethan fell forward onto the table, his forehead making a sickening thud against the wood. And for several moments after, his body shook with spasms until finally he was still, his face down, his eyes closed.

"What have you done!?" I said.

"He can't be trusted," Laurent said calmly, setting the rifle aside. "I had to get rid of him."

"Is he dead?"

Laurent touched his neck.

"No."

He pulled Ethan's head up until his body was slouched against the chair back. After he had searched Ethan's pockets, he lifted up his coat, revealing a pistol tucked into the back of his trousers.

I watched, transfixed, as Laurent pulled the thing out, then tucked it into the back of his own trousers.

There was no doubt in my mind that the gun was loaded.

 _What did Ethan really come here for?_ I thought. _Gravediggers dig graves._

"Help me! Quick!" Laurent said.

He reached under Ethan's armpits.

"Grab his feet!"

"His feet?"

"Yes. We have to get him to the cellar before he comes around."

"To the cellar? We can't just keep him prisoner!"

"Well, we can't let him go, either, can we?"

He was right. Of course, he was always right.

"Delphine! Grab his legs! Now!"

I grabbed him around the thighs, and lifted him up. He was much heavier than I expected, his soldier's boots only adding to the weight. It was an awkward sort of business, getting him down the narrow stairs into the cold, damp cellar, but we managed it.

Laurent laid him out on some old sacks of corn. Then he pulled Ethan's arms and legs back, tying his limbs behind him like he was some kind of animal.

"Is that really necessary?" I asked.

"We can't take any chances," Laurent said. "I don't trust him — not one bit!"

"But he's unarmed."

Laurent lunged forward, and that spark of madness was back in his eyes.

"You don't know what he's capable of!" he shouted right into my face. "But I do!"

I recoiled, instinctively shielding myself with my arms.

He stepped back. He shook his head as if he were a dog shaking off water.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"It's fine."

Just then, we heard delicate footsteps on the stairs. Aishe peeked into the cellar, leaning underneath the makeshift railing, the light from upstairs casting her whole body in shadows.

"Who's that?" she said.

"No one," I said.

I ushered her up the stairs and away from the scene. "It's just a friend. He needs a place to sleep for a while."

"Is he coming to Switzerland with us?"

"No," I said. "No, no. I don't think so."

Once she was upstairs, I turned back to Laurent.

"We have three days," I whispered. "Three days until someone comes looking for him. You better figure out what to do with him before that."

"Easy," Laurent said. "We leave him here and we run."

"But we can't leave...not yet!"

"Why not?"

_Because my Dandelion has promised she will return!_

"We don't have supplies… or a plan," I said, stumbling for a solid reason to stay despite the immediate danger.

"We don't need supplies," he said. "Not a plan, either. When you run, you just run."

I winced, remembering suddenly the blisters on his feet and the way he had hobbled up the road on the day he returned from the Eastern front.

"Well, I haven't had a chance to say goodbye," I said. "To mother and father."

I had meant it to be an irrefutable excuse, but as I murmured the words, I knew they were true.

Laurent must have known, too, because he relented, turning away.

"Then I guess you have three days," he said.

"Oui. Three days."

Laurent stayed in the cellar a long time. I went about cleaning the rest of the house, if only to give my shaking hands something to do.

I cleaned the bathroom, and there was no noise from the cellar.

I washed the dishes. I wiped the table.

I stripped the beds. I turned the mattresses. I washed the sheets.

I dusted every surface, every shelf, every centimeter of our rooms, and still there was no noise from the cellar.

I took Aishe into Rosheim, only slightly less frightened by the idea of taking her out into public as I was of leaving her in the house alone. We only went to the market for a moment. I kept my scarf tight around my face, and I kept my head down. I instructed Aishe to do the same, but soon her scarf fell away, and she attracted more than a few side-eyed glances.

I bought cabbage and potatoes because they were the cheapest, and a chicken because my mother had taught me how to make it last for many meals. I bought butter and flour, because I was certain I had enough other ingredients to make my own bread. It didn't seem wise to step foot in the bakery, where someone was sure to recognize me. Lastly, I bought some apples for Aishe, which she carried home happily.

It was only when we returned from the market, only when I pushed open the front door and stepped into the entryway; it was only then that we heard the sounds of a heated argument rising up through the cracks in the floorboards.

"How did you know she was here?!" Laurent shouted.

"Let me go! Why are you keeping me here?" Ethan said through sobs.

As soon as she heard the sound, Aishe clung to my shirtsleeve. She pulled me back toward the front door.

"Let's go! Let's go!" she whispered.

"It's okay," I said. "Shhhh!"

The shouts continued.

"Answer my question! How did you know?!"

"You're only making things worse for yourself!"

"Worse for myself?! Things can't get much worse for me. I'm already dead, didn't you know?!"

"Someone will come for me. You can't keep me here forever."

"Maybe," Laurent said. "Or maybe not."

Aishe tugged on my shirt sleeve again.

"Why are they fighting?" she asked with fear in her eyes.

"They're not fighting," I said. "They're just having a little disagreement. Adults do it sometimes. Don't worry."

But I set the groceries on the kitchen table and followed her outside.

"Let's build a snowman!" I said, leading her towards the barn and away from the house.

"There's not enough snow," she said.

"Well, that's no excuse. We can still try. It will just have to be a small one."

"Can we build a snow woman, instead?" she asked. "And a snow baby?"

"Of course!" I said. "Let's build a whole snow family!"

I tried to sound enthusiastic, but the last thing I wanted to do was make another family; especially one that could dissolve so quickly.

We walked to the barn where there was more snow on the ground, and I helped her roll the snowballs, asking her lots of questions about each family member in order to keep her talking.

"Who is this?" I would say.

"This is mama," she would say.

"And who is that?"

"This is baby."

I had to keep her talking because if we were silent, we could still hear the highest, harshest tones of Laurent's voice, or maybe that was just my imagination.

"And what is baby's name?"

"Aishe."

"And who is that? Is that the father?"

"No, that's brother."

"And does brother have a name?"

"Fordel," she said.

She shoved a pebble into the center of Fordel's face, creating a nose.

"Wow! Fordel is very handsome! How old is he?"

She didn't answer in words. She turned to me, with her bottom lip turned out. Then she held her hands up, showing seven bright red fingers.

"Seven? Wow! What a nice young man! And where is the father?"

She didn't answer. I couldn't hear anything else from the house, but my own mind was reeling with noisy, dangerous thoughts.

_Three days. Only three days. When you run, you run._

"Is there a father?" I asked again.

"No," she said.

_We must not hesitate. We must not make the same mistake._

Finally, when our family was finished, Aishe and I stood up straight and regarded the figures with a discerning eye.

"What a beautiful family," I said. "Should we make another one?"

"No."

I didn't want to take her back to the house, not just yet. I had to think of some way to distract her.

"I know!" I said. "Have you ever seen an airplane?"

She stretched her arms out like wings and raised her eyebrows.

"Yes, an airplane! Have you ever seen one?"

"Of course!" she said.

I laughed, because I'd never heard her use the expression before.

"Really? Where?"

"In the sky, of course!"

"Oh, I mean, have you ever seen one very close? A real one? On the ground?"

She shrugged her shoulders like it was a silly question.

I walked her to the barn doors, but when I leaned against them, I found them locked. I needed the key.

"You wait here," I said, but she was already kneeling down playing in the snow.

I grabbed the key from the house without completely opening the front door. No, I pushed it open only wide enough to reach my hand in. When I returned to the barn and unlocked the doors, Aishe stood up, brushing the snow from her red hands and wincing.

"Airplane," she said before I had even pushed open the door.

"Yes!" I said. "There is a real airplane inside. I'll show you!"

"No," she said. "Airplane."

She was pointing up, not at the barn door, but away from it. She was pointing at the sky.

I turned, looking up.

And that's when I saw it, the shadow a plane flying low in the sky. It was coming from the west, and heading east, heading toward Strasbourg.

But as soon as I saw it, it disappeared into an enormous gray cloud.

 _It can't be!_ I thought. _It can't be her_. _Last time she came from the south._

I traced out the plane's trajectory with my eyes, waiting for it to emerge from the other side of the cloud. The sound of the engine trailed behind it, causing confusion to my eye.

I held my breath and prayed.

But then it reappeared, breaking out of the cloud and into the bright blue sky, the wings steady and sure, the metal body shimmering in the sunshine. It banked around and flew back in the direction of Rosheim, losing altitude by the moment.

I ran. Without realizing what I was doing, I ran back to the house. I ran toward the drive.

The plane banked around once more, until it was on a direct path for our drive, and then, in what _could only_ have been seconds, it swooped down, the wheels stretching beneath it as if begging for solid ground.

I raised my hands to my mouth. I cried out in a mix of fear and disbelief.

But the landing was not smooth. The plane bounced once, twice, and a third time, the tires wobbling on the icy ground. It veered toward one side of the road and then the other. I thought for a moment that it would careen right into the wooden fence on either side, but then it straightened out, following the gentle slope of our hill until the thing stopped only meters from where I stood.

The propellor stopped. The glass hatch popped open. The pilot jumped from the plane, a leather cap on her head and large goggles on her face.

I fell to my knees in the snow and cried.


	30. Chapter 30

I cried so loud that my voice echoed out and came back to me through the snow-covered vines. I cried so loud that, for a moment, my cries were the whole world, and so I didn't even hear her footsteps approaching on the gravel.

I cried with my face in my hands, and when I felt her hand on my shoulder, I could not look up. I squeezed my eyes closed, and when she kneeled down in front of me, I squeezed them tighter still. She pulled my hands away from my face, bringing me up into her arms, until we were knee to knee and chest to chest in the snow. I buried my face into the lapel of her leather jacket. Her cheek and chin were hot against my forehead and her arms were firm around my back.

I clung to her jacket.

"Why did you come here?!" I cried into her chest.

"What?"

"Why did you come here?! Why did you come to this horrible place?! You must leave! You must leave right now!"

She held me at arm's length, laughing.

"What are you talking about?" she said.

"You must leave!" I said again.

I barely understood my own logic, but I was unable to stop my own pleas.

"You must leave right away! You can't stay in this horrible place! I just can't stand it!"

"Delphine," she said. "Do you hear yourself?"

But I couldn't be consoled.

"Why did you come?!" I cried. "Why did you come, you stupid girl?!"

I hit her then, swinging my balled up fists at her arms and chest.

"You stupid! Stupid! Girl!"

She stopped laughing. She grabbed my hands, and in pulling them together, she contained my outburst with a strong embrace, squeezing me and rocking me in the snow.

"Now we must all die together," I whimpered into her chest.

"No one's going to die," she said, rocking me. "No one's going to die. I've got a plane, don't you see? I've got a plane and a plan."

She rocked me like that for a long time, until finally my tears exhausted themselves against her.

I looked up.

"You've got a plane?" I said.

"Yes, look! Isn't she a beauty?"

I did look, and the plane was impressive. It was military, that much I could tell, with the Luftwaffe symbol on the side.

"Luftwaffe? How did you...?"

"It's not the real thing," she said. "Just a clever paint job."

"But won't the Allies shoot you down as soon as they see you?"

"Not if everything goes according to plan."

"According to plan? You have a plan?"

Somehow the scenario was incredible; Cosima, here, with a plane and a plan.

"Of course," she said. "But first let's get you out of the snow."

She pulled me up and dusted the snow from my clothes, moving her hands over the front of my dress and coat in a too familiar gesture, and this time, I did not push her hands away.

No, this time I let her touch me. This time I felt every touch like a torch. She started at my knees and worked her way up to my stomach, my chest, my shoulders.

"You're going to catch your death out here," she said.

"Cosima," I said, grabbing her hands. "So many things have changed."

"I'm not afraid," she said. "Whatever it is, I'm not afraid."

It wasn't the answer I expected, but it was the answer I needed. I looked into her eyes, and I could feel the promise of summer, the promise of spring, the promise that all things return and that snow does not stay forever.

She reached for my face. She kissed my cheeks first — several quick kisses on my cheeks and chin. She kissed my nose, and finally, my mouth, just a peck before she reached for my scarf and began wiping away my tears.

I can hardly say I kissed her back. I can hardly say I participated at all. No, I just stood there, dumbstruck as she wiped at my face, laughing to herself in a nervous sort of way.

"Please don't cry," she whispered.

Aishe walked to us then, her footsteps crunching delicately over the snowy ground.

Cosima looked at Aishe and then back to me.

"This is Aishe," I said, speaking in German. "We met in Strasbourg."

Cosima seemed pleasantly surprised.

"Aishe?"

She kneeled down and extended her hand.

Aishe stood back.

"Aishe," I said. "This is my best friend in the whole world. Her name is Cosima. Do you want to shake her hand?"

Aishe shook her head slightly.

"Oh, well," Cosima said with a shrug. "I understand. But if you want a handshake later, I've got this one saved for you."

She tucked her hand into the pocket of her trousers, as if depositing some invisible thing there. Then she patted the pocket in a overstated sort of way, and Aishe smiled.

"We can't go into the house," I said. I lifted up the barn key. "I was going to show Aishe the airplane in the barn, but...now you've outdone me."

"We can't go into the house?"

I switched to English, a language I was sure Aishe couldn't understand.

I smiled and said, "Yes, Laurent has Ethan tied up in the cellar and the screaming is scaring her."

Surprised, but willing to play along, Cosima smiled, too.

"Wow! Things certainly _have_ changed. And why exactly does Laurent have Ethan tied up in the cellar?"

"It's a long story," I said. "But don't worry, I wrote it all down."


	31. Chapter 31

Felix's plane had not been moved in four years. No, my father had covered it with a sheet, and left it alone.

When we entered the barn, the air was thick and old; it rushed around us and out the door.

Cosima reached up and pulled the sheet away, kicking up a cloud of dust. Then she smiled and stepped forward, touching the propellor very gently, as if she thought the thing might break.

"It's smaller than I remembered," she said. "Gosh, it's barely even a glider!"

I laughed. "It hardly seemed small to me... on that day."

Cosima looked at me. "I can imagine."

"I thought it was the biggest thing I'd ever seen! I thought I was going to die right there beside Monsieur Lumiere's field!"

I laughed again, but my heart could not handle any mention of death and so my laughter faded quickly.

"Funny how things change, right?" she said.

"Oui."

Cosima turned to Aishe then.

"Do you want to go inside?" she asked.

Aishe shook her head no then walked away.

"Well, maybe another day."

I followed Cosima as she circled the plane, running her hands along the body, the tail, the wings. She kicked the toe of her boot against the tires. She reached up, grabbing the propellor, then she pulled down, spinning it once. And when she was through, she turned around, crossing the barn to the tractor.

"Is this it?" she called back to me. "Is this the tractor? The one from the picture?"

"What picture?"

Cosima unzipped her jacket and reached into the breast pocket. She pulled out a crumpled photograph and handed it to me.

"Sorry, I kind of wore it out," she said. "But I had to take it all over England, talking to mechanics, talking to other pilots, too."

It was the picture of my family in front of the tractor. The edges were torn in places, and it was strongly creased right down the middle, as if it had been folded up for years.

"Wow," I said. "I forgot that I ever sent this to you."

"Yes, the happy Cormier family," she said, stepping closer. "And you, the happiest of all."

She pointed to my face, but I was too busy looking at my parents. Their faces were obscured by the crease that ran right between them, leaving only Laurent and myself intact. I ran my finger over the crease.

Cosima moved to the tractor, pulling open the hatch that covered the engine.

"It's perfect!" she said. "Just like I had hoped! This will be as easy as pie!"

"What?" I said, only half-listening. "What will be as easy as pie?"

She looked at me and shrugged.

"Simple," she said. "We'll take all the parts we need for the plane from this tractor."

"Parts for the plane? I thought you already had a plane."

"I do. But if we can fix this one, then we will have two planes. Two planes are better than one, right?"

"But we only have one pilot."

"Well, that can be fixed," she said. "Anyone can fly a plane. You just point the thing in the right direction, trim it out, and it can basically fly itself."

"Cosima, I think you're exaggerating a little bit."

"No, I'm not. I flew this plane after only three days, remember?"

"I do remember!" I said. "And you crash landed in a field of sunflowers, right after a catastrophic engine failure! And you almost killed me in the process. We are both lucky to be alive!"

"Look," she said. "I'm not saying you have to do it — though I think you'd make an excellent pilot — but if you're uncomfortable, then let's ask someone else… Laurent, or your father."

I watched Cosima's mouth, certain of the inevitability of her last word as soon as I saw the " _f"_ form on her lips, but before she could finish it, before she could say _father_ , I turned away.

"It would have to be Laurent, then," I said. "But I'm not so sure he's in the best state of mind...and besides we don't really have three days. We have to leave before that. Why can't we just leave now?"

"No, no, we have to stick to the plan," she said. "We have to be very careful about when and where we go."

"What do you mean? I thought when you run, you just run?"

"No, no. I have contacts," she said. "I have to do my part and they can will do their part."

"Oh god!" I said. "Not again with the contacts! I don't trust contacts. I only trust you."

"Yes, well, they got me this far, didn't they?"

"Well, how much of your plan _can_ you tell me?"

"I have a week to fix this plane, that's it. In exactly seven days, we have to get these planes in the air before the sun comes up, otherwise…"

"Otherwise what?"

"Well, let's just say things will get more complicated."

I sighed.

"And do you think you can do it?" I said. "Do you really think you can fix the plane and teach me how to fly it in only seven days?"

"I already told you — easy as pie."

"And what if I told you that you only had three days?"

"What? What do you mean three days?"

"What if I told you…" I started.

I took a deep breath. I knew I'd have to barrel through the facts as fast as possible or risk falling into a weeping mess again.

I took a deep breath, turning away from Cosima, looking instead at Aishe playing in the corner, watching her move pebbles around on the ground as if they were cars.

"Delphine?" Cosima said. "Talk to me."

I glanced at her, but it was only a glance, because the sun was shining in through the cracks in the wood paneled walls; it was shining right on her face, a sliver of sunshine that cut across her face, right across the bridge of her nose and up over her brow; it cut across her face with the violence that only beauty holds, making her both unbearably lovely and unbearably fragile.

 _I wish you had never come here,_ I thought, looking away. _You should never have come to the land of the dead._

"What if I told you," I continued, "that both of my parents are dead... that Laurent and Ethan are both deserters from the Wehrmacht... that Ethan lied to his commanding officer, saying that he married me so that he could get a three day honeymoon — three days which he intended to use to run away to Switzerland, only now Laurent's got him tied up in the basement, just keeping him there like a ticking time bomb, and in three days the Wehrmacht is going to pounce upon Rosheim like a pack of dogs and will devour us all…"

I turned back, my tone bitter and harsh, my jaw set, my arms crossed in front of my chest.

"What would you say then?" I said.

But she didn't say anything. She stood still, blinking several times as she processed all the information. I wondered which part she'd pick out first, which part would shock her most, which part would make her tilt her head in confusion, or which part would make her jaw drop and her eyes widen in pity.

But I guess she heard all of it at once — or maybe she heard none of it — either way, she stepped toward me and she touched my face.

She smiled but her eyes were serious.

"No problem," she whispered. "Easy as pie."

That's when I knew it. That's when I knew that we were completely bound together. That's when I knew that in three days time, either both of those planes would fly together, or neither would ever fly again. Separation wasn't an option.

I knew it, and she knew it.

"Easy as pie," I repeated, pressing her hand harder against my cheek. Then I laughed, throwing my hands in the air at the absurdity of the situation. "Easy as _fucking_ pie!"

She laughed, too.

"And in that case," she said. "We'd better get started."


	32. Chapter 32

She had said she could teach me to fly, but I was skeptical. My eyelids were swollen and heavy from the salt of dried tears. My limbs were heavy, too, and my head was full of fog.

She spoke of altitude and optimal speed; take off and velocity; nose up to slow down, nose down to accelerate. Meanwhile, I had never been more convinced of my rock-like nature. All around us the waters of life were rising at alarming speeds, and there in the cellar, was Ethan, like an anchor around my ankle.

I gasped for air.

"Got it?" she said.

"What?" I said.

"I said did you get it?"

"Ehm, oui," I said. "Manage my airspeed...subtle movements of the controls."

"That's right. You've got to watch your airspeed, because if you go too slow, you'll never get off the ground, but if you go too fast... well, you'll stall the engine and drop right out of the sky."

"Merci, Cosima," I said, touching my forehead, "that's very comforting."

I suppose she noticed my hesitancy, because she set her wrench down. She wiped the oil from her hands and stepped toward me.

"Look," she said. "It's not as hard as you think. It's just physics."

I tried to believe her. I tried to put my faith in physics. I tried to place physics above everything else, because my faith in everything else was faltering.

I tried to remind myself that the stars had never left us — not me, nor Aishe, nor Laurent. I tried to remind myself that somewhere in the world the snow is a thing to marvel at, not a thing to fear.

I tried to believe her when she said that if we could just get these planes in the air, if we could just get them over the Vosges Mountains and out to the coasts of Normandy, there'd be a boat waiting for us, one that would take us south.

"How's your spanish?" she teased.

"My spanish?"

"Yeah," she said. "You know, your español?""

"Well, I don't...I never...Are we going to Spain?"

"No, we're going some place even better," she said.

"Where?"

"The Canary Islands, just off the coast of Morocco."

Her eyes lit up as she spoke.

"Morocco? Wow."

"Yes, and I've been there, Delphine!" she said. "I've seen it with my own eyes! Where we are going, there is a white beach and when you stand on it and look out at the water, well...you just have to see it for yourself! And then, when you turn around and look behind, there are these mountains! They are stark and dusty, and so different from the mountains here."

"Wow," I said again.

"Yes, and the biggest mountain, Hacha Grande, it's so barren, so untouched by man. The place is mostly covered with birds, and every night at sunset they flock and swarm in the sky."

"Sounds like paradise," I said.

And it did sound lovely; an island full of birds, untouched by men, untouched by war, completely neutral.

I tried to believe that such a place existed. I tried to believe it with all of my might, because when Cosima smiled, I could almost see it — not a field of sunflowers, but all the warm neutrals of sandy beaches and dusty mountains.

And this vision was so different from the snow-covered Alps of Switzerland. It was jarring, to say the least.

I glanced at Aishe then. She sat on the ground, not that far from us, talking to herself as she often did. I'd grown so accustomed to the sound.

 _How will I explain it to her?_ I wondered. _How will I explain any of this? What right do I have to take her so far away from here?_

But I knew this wasn't about my right to take her; this was about her right to live.

"And Felix is there," she said.

"Felix?"

I scanned her face for any signs of mischief. I was certain that she was toying with me.

"Yeah," she said. "That's how I found the place. He wrote to me, saying he had been discharged, and in a strange turn of events, ended up on the wrong boat. He said that when he stepped foot on the island, he forgot any thoughts of returning to London."

"But what does he do there?" I said. "What does he do on an island of birds?"

"He fishes," she said. "And paints."

"He paints?"

It seemed like an incredible luxury at the moment, to spend your days painting, to fish for your own food in the sea.

"Yes, and he's getting quite good."

"Wow," I said softly. "Laurent will be happy to hear that."

Cosima went back to her work, picking up the wrench, reaching into the bowels of the tractor. She pulled out nuts and bolts, wires and tubes. She laid them out on the ground in neat rows.

"Now back to business," she said. "Every machine has a set of optimal speed parameters: optimal take off speed, optimal landing speed, and optimal cruising speed."

"Yes," I said, trying my best to focus on her voice.

But over in the corner, Aishe was still whispering, and between Cosima's words, I heard the soft rhythmic murmurs of her chant.

"Graben Grabengräber Gruben?" Aishe murmured, her voice light and wispy.

"Now, if I remember correctly, this plane will want to take off the ground at right around sixty knots."

"Graben Grubengräber Gräben?"

My mind was slow like a tangled net, because both of their words were caught up at the same time; english pushing in from one side, and german pushing in from the other. Their voices stretched and pulled at each other; Cosima's confident and imperative, Aishe's slippery and shy.

And a third sound, even softer still — yes, a third sound slipped in, catching my attention.

"Now, when you are coming in to land, you're going to want to reduce speed very subtly, because at fifty-five knots you will no longer be airborne..."

"Cosima," I said, raising my hand in the air.

She paused and that's when we heard it, footsteps outside the door.

But we heard it too late.

The door swung open.

BANG!

It slammed against the wall right where Aishe sat, just barely missing her in it's violent arc. She scurried under the plane.

I jumped, too, pushing Cosima aside as I turned to face the intruder.

But it was only Laurent.

He stood at the door with the pistol drawn, the barrel pointed at me. It was the second time he'd pointed a gun at me in two days. And this time, I knew it was loaded.

"Christ, Laurent!" I shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

He lowered his gun.

"I thought someone was here," he said. "There's a Luftwaffe plane outside."

"Someone is here," Cosima said, stepping out from behind the plane. "But it's not the Luftwaffe."

He flinched, raising the gun again. "Who's that?"

"Bon jour," Cosima said with her hands up.

Laurent lowered the gun, slowly.

"You remember Cosima," I said.

"Of course," he said. And then again, his voice softer, "Of course, I'm sorry."

He tucked his pistol into the back of his trousers. And as he crossed the barn to shake her hand, his smile grew with every step.

"Of course! Cosima!" he said. "How...? How is it...? How are you?"

Cosima laughed and told the story of her great adventure.

Meanwhile, I kneeled by the plane. Aishe sat beneath the axle with her arms wrapped around her knees, tucking them up and hiding her face. When I touched her shoulder, she shivered. I pulled my hand away, and leaned back onto my knees.

"It was just Laurent," I said. "He didn't mean it."

"He's a bad man," she said into her knees.

"He's not bad," I said. "He's just scared, like you and me."

"No! He's bad!"

I sighed.

What could I say to defend him? He had done a bad thing that I could not reason away. She knew it and I knew it.

I heard Laurent's voice as he talked with Cosima. Once I might have called it his real voice, but at that moment, I wasn't sure.

"Maybe he is," I whispered. "But we still have to love him."

"Why?"

"Because he is my brother," I said.

She looked up then, wiping at her snotty nose.

"Do you understand?" I said.

She nodded her head, but when I led her out from underneath the plane, she clung to my skirt, never showing more than half of her face to him at a time, staying always in my shadow until the moment Cosima and Laurent left the barn.

"Where are they going?" she asked.

"They are going to move the plane," I explained.

"Are we going to fly to Switzerland in that plane?" she asked.

Her question surprised me. I touched her damp cheek.

"No," I said. "No, we're not going to Switzerland. We're going to some place even better."

"But mama thinks we are going to Switzerland."

"Well, then we have to write her another letter, don't we?"

She nodded her head.

"In fact, I think we should do that right now."

As soon as we stepped out onto the lawn, Aishe moved to my other side, sure keep my body between herself and Laurent. He stood in the distance, guiding Cosima down the narrow lane that connected our house to the Lumieres' house. He waved her on, his movements light and excited.

I watched him, baffled at the speed and precision of his morphability. I remembered Cosima's words.

_If you try to go too fast… you'll fall right out of the sky._

When we reached the house I pushed opened the door and we were immediately immersed in a heavy feeling. I went from room to room, opening the windows despite the cold, trying to clear the place out, but knowing full well that it was my own conscience bringing the house down.

Yes, Cosima said she could teach me to fly, but I was starting to realize that maybe Ethan wasn't the only weight I had to carry. No, if Ethan was an anchor around my ankle, then Laurent was a canon turned loose.

They were equally heavy, and in their own ways, equally threatening.

I held Aishe's hand, helping her up the stairs to my bedroom.

I set a pen and paper before her, and as she scribbled out her letter, I touched the back of her head.

 _She is still young_ , I thought. _She is still so light. And if I am to help her I must be light, too._

I looked out the window. I saw Laurent in the distance. And though he smiled and laughed with Cosima, I wondered to myself if I'd be strong enough to break away from him.

I wondered.


	33. Chapter 33

That night as I made dinner, there was a tangle of knots in my stomach, accompanied by a nausea that did not seem to let up.

No, if anything, as the night wore on, as I chopped the carrots and baked the bread, as I set the table and laid out the napkins, as I ladled the chicken stew into the serving dish; as I did all these small things, that nausea only continued to grow.

By the time Cosima and Laurent walked in the door, I had to hide my trembling hands in the pockets of my cardigan.

 _So strange,_ I thought. _That I should feel so much fear now, after everything that's happened...after all this time._

Cosima and Laurent were in good spirits and they made a big deal over my cooking. Laurent went to the sink to wash his hands, and Cosima waited by the table. For a moment, we stood on opposite ends, eyes locked.

"And how are the repairs going?" I asked.

"Right on track," she said.

She closed her mouth and smiled, saying nothing else. But her eyes...

Her eyes said many things at once. My heart pounded.

 _Oh,_ I thought. _This isn't fear at all. This is something else completely._

It had been so long since I felt that kind of nervous excitement, that I hadn't even recognized it for what it was.

She stepped to the sink.

I watched her turn her head down. I watched her turn the faucet on. I watched her lean her hips against the counter, then shake, shake, shake her hands dry into the basin.

Laurent asked me a question I think, but I barely responded.

My attention was caught up on the line of her neck, the place where the collar of her shirt pulled away from her skin. I remembered the first night. I remembered the red dress. I remembered the hot, sweaty dancers. I remembered wanting to touch her.

 _All those years ago,_ I thought. _And nothing has changed._

We sat down at the table, and no sooner had we taken our first bites of bread, did we hear Ethan's voice rise up from the cellar.

"Hello!" he called out.

We all paused; Laurent with his knife in his hand, Cosima with her spoon to her mouth, and me, well, I nearly choked on my wine.

"Hello!" Ethan called again. "Please, I'm thirsty! Please!"

Laurent wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up.

"I'll take care of this," he said, the smile gone from his face.

I looked at Aishe. She seemed unaffected, chewing calmly on a bit of bread.

I glanced at Cosima. She reached her hand out, resting it on the table, palm up. Without thinking, I took it into my own, not caring if she felt me tremble. I just wondered if she knew what I was really trembling for.

Laurent took a glass of water and a small bowl of stew down to the basement, and we didn't see him again for the rest of the night. Nor did we hear anymore pleas from Ethan.

The house was quiet; but the quiet house did nothing to calm my nerves.

Once upstairs, I gave Cosima something to sleep in. It was the same nightgown she had worn that night. I left her to change while I helped Aishe take her bath. Then I braided Aishe's hair, sitting on the edge of the bed while Cosima laid blankets out on the floor.

When she was finished she laid the pillow at the head of the blankets. Then she looked at me with her hands on her hips.

She sighed.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" I said. "We can sleep on the floor. We're used to it."

That's what I said with my mouth, but with my eyes…

Well, I hoped that she knew how badly I wanted to join her.

She smiled and waved the suggestion off.

"It's no big deal," she said. "I'm exhausted. I won't even know the difference."

I read a storybook to Aishe, but before the story was even finished, I heard her soft snores and felt her twitching limbs. I knew she was asleep.

I slipped from the bed, shivering all over.

I slipped from the bed, and in one swift motion, I found myself laying on my side on the floor, my arm tucked under my head like a pillow, my knees pulled up. Across from me, Cosima lifted the blanket up and laid it over my legs, pulling it up to my shoulders, and then, she brushed my hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

I shivered, and in shivering I drew her closer to me.

"Are you alright?" she said.

"I think there's a draft in here."

"Yeah," she said, pulling the blanket up to her own neck.

I couldn't look at her. I looked away. I looked at the corner of my desk. My eye fell on the copy _The Well of Loneliness,_ the one she had wrapped in _Les Liaisons Dangereuses._ It almost seemed funny then, the coincidence.

I laughed; not because it was funny, not really. I laughed because I didn't know what else to do.

She laughed, too, though she had no way of knowing what she was laughing at, either.

But then Aishe stirred in the bed. I covered Cosima's mouth — just barely — with the tips of my fingers. We froze and listened.

But then Aishe was still.

Cosima relaxed her head back onto her pillow, smiling.

But, me? A spasm of nervous energy gripped my body. I yanked my hand away from her face and closed my eyes.

She moved closer. Our knees touched. She grabbed my hand beneath the blankets.

"Are you scared?" she whispered.

"Non," I said with my eyes still closed. "Tell me about the Canary Islands."

"Well," she started. "It's an amazing place. It's quiet, like here. It reminds me of Rosheim, somehow, though they look nothing alike."

"How so?"

"Well, Rosheim is so green. The mountains, the trees, the grapevines. When I flew over this place, I got so turned around, everything was the same sea of green."

I smiled, remembering the map she had pulled from her pocket.

"But the island we are going to is called Lanzarote, and it is dominated by a dusty, stark mountain that everyone calls Hache Grande, because it juts into the sky like an axe. And the sky is so changeable. Some days its bright blue, and other days heavy grey clouds float over Hache Grande, and some days the sky looks like it might actually catch fire, the way the sun catches the clouds and everything turns pink and gold."

"Tell me about the birds."

"The birds?"

"Yes, you said there were birds."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"I don't know...what kind of birds are there?"

"I'm no expert, but I can tell you what I've seen with my own eyes."

"That's fine," I said.

I opened my eyes to see her face in profile. She glanced around the room, her eyes darting back and forth as if she were really watching birds circle in the sky. I glanced between the features of her face; her soft brow, the bridge of her nose, the place where the tip of her nose rounded off and suddenly became the dip above her upper lip…

She took a breath.

"I've seen all kinds of birds there, but I don't know their names, except of course the most common ones. There are long-necked pelicans, and gray seagulls. There are so many tiny birds, little parakeets and cuckoos, and in the morning their songs...well...there are nighthawks, too."

"And canaries?"

"Of course, there are many canaries — little yellow ones, and red and green, and even white ones."

"That's nice," I said.

"There is a pair of love birds that have built a nest in the eaves of Felix's little house."

"No!" I said, lifting my head. "You're making this up, now."

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "They built a nest there, and because he feeds them, they are happy to stay there forever, I think."

"Of course they are. Why leave paradise?"

"Exactly."

Our eyes met again.

"Does it ever snow in the Canary Islands?" I asked.

"Only on the tops of the mountains," she said. "But there are storms, of course."

"Of course," I whispered. "Of course there are."

Her smiled faded, her expression suddenly serious, her eyes darting across my face and then landing on my mouth.

She inhaled; I inhaled with her.

We kissed.

There were storms; a clashing of bodies, a tangle of limbs, an exchange of heat. There were flashes of light beneath my eyelids.

She exhaled; I exhaled with her.

She pushed me onto my back. She rose above me, the gown falling away from her chest — falling so far that for a moment, I could see right down to her belly button.

I gasped, reaching for her, scared of my own desire. I pulled her down and buried my face in her neck, trembling.

That moment, it was more than I had imagined, though I had imagined it often and intensely.

She stayed still, her cheek pressed against my ear. She stayed still and I clung to her.

"Don't move," I whispered.

I was convinced that if she moved I would cry out in both fear and ecstasy.

"I won't."

Her ribs heaved beneath the weight of my arms. Her fingertip brushed gently against my earlobe, but she did not move.

No, finally, it was me.

Finally, I opened my eyes and turned my face, moving my lips against her neck. I inhaled.

She still smelled the same, though if you asked me to describe the smell, I wouldn't know what to say. She smelled like stars — stars in the night sky.

I pressed my open mouth against her skin, and I let out a muffled cry that vibrated right out of my body and right into hers.

Aishe stirred again on the bed.

Cosima raised herself up, and in moving, I saw her bare chest and shoulders again. She leaned back on her knees, to get a better look at Aishe.

"Is she awake?" I asked.

Cosima shook her head.

"I think we should move," I whispered.

"I think you're right."

We gathered up the blankets as quickly and as quietly as we could. I led her to Laurent's room, knowing he'd have to forgive me, also knowing that I could easily shove his dresser in front of the door.

And that's what Cosima and I did. We shoved the dresser in front of the door, just like a couple of kids up to mischief.

We giggled as we did it, and then...

We laid the blankets out one more time. I watched Cosima's body move beneath that old nightgown. I saw the curve of her hip, the curve of her calf. I watched her shake the blanket out, and before it had fallen flat on the floor, I ran my hand up her spine.

She flinched and turned, spinning right into my arms, spinning right into my kiss.

I can't say for sure, but I think I picked her up. I think her toes dangled from the floor. I think I squeezed her very hard. I think she kissed me.

I think we fell to the floor.

We laughed.

"Take this off," I whispered, pulling up on the bottom of the nightgown.

She nodded her head and raised her hips.

The night gown slipped up, up, up and I couldn't breathe. She raised her arms, and the thing was off, tossed to the side.

The thing was off, and she laid before me, covered in goosebumps and lamp light.

I stared.

But not for long.

I had dreamed of her for so long — of pressing my body against hers — that soon I was pulling my own gown over my head.

I disappeared for a moment as the white fabric passed over my face, but when it was gone, I reappeared in her eyes.

She smiled, pulling me toward her.

"I missed you," I said between kisses.

"I missed you," she echoed back.

Everything was an echo. She moved; I moved. She sighed; I sighed. She tossed her head back and closed her eyes; I tossed my head back and pushed against her.

Everything was an echo; our voices, our pulses, our heartbeats. Everything was an echo but where was the original sound?

I heard our breaths. I heard our bodies. I heard our rhythm.

But these things were distance and organic, like the flutter of wings, like the sound of the sea.

I leaned back. I kneeled between her legs. I ran my hand from her neck, down the front of her to her stomach. She brought her knees up until they squeezed at my sides. She laughed, then hid her face in the crook of her elbow, her hips still moving in the echos of our rhythm.

With my hand on her stomach, I watched her, trying to comprehend her all at once. Not just the woman who was with me at that moment, but the one who had been with me on the roof, the one who had been with me in my dreams, the one who would take me far from this place.

I watched in disbelief as past, present, and future seemed to converge on the underside of her chin. I leaned forward, kissed the spot, and leaned back again.

I was torn between two desires; the desire to touch and be touched, and the desire to see and be seen.

I pulled her elbow away from her face. Our eyes met.

"Cosima, I…" I started to say.

"I know," she said.

I wanted to ask her to clarify. I wanted to know _how much_ she knew. I wanted her to say that she had also dreamed of me every night, that I wasn't alone, that I had never been alone.

But she said nothing. Instead she guided my hands down to the inside of her thighs.

It was her answer and it was enough.

And then, with just a slight adjustment of her hips, my hand was somewhere else.

I was somewhere else; she was somewhere else; _we_ were somewhere else.

She had said she could teach me to fly, and now I believed her.

Now my eyelids fluttered like a butterfly's wings. Now my limbs floated from me, as if they weren't mine at all. My bones, my flesh, my heart; they were light, and my head was light, too.

My head was light and clear.

I was not scared. I was not skeptical.

No, as I held her face still, as I looked into her eyes, I could already see all the colors of morning sands and setting sun.

"Do you think we will ever really get there?" I whispered.

"Where?"

"To the Canary Islands?"

"We'll never know until we try."

"Right," I said.

I rolled onto my side, resting my head on her shoulder. I laid my hand on her chest, just to feel the steady motion of her breath.

I stayed awake a long time after she fell asleep. I stayed awake wondering. I pulled the blankets up around us, and when she stirred I pulled her close.

"We'll never know…" I whispered, considering her face one more time before I fell asleep.


	34. Chapter 34

I woke before Cosima. I woke before Aishe. I woke before everyone, as far as I could tell. The house was quiet. But when I pushed the dresser from the door, Cosima sat straight up, her eyes wide, her body bare from the waist up.

"Attention!" she shouted, raising her hand to her brow in a stiff salute.

I jumped back. Our eyes met. A crimson blush spread across her face.

"Bon jour," I said, smiling.

She lowered her hand and pulled the blanket up.

"Good morning," she said, squinting without her glasses.

I shoved the dresser completely out of the way, then clutched at the front of my nightgown.

"I'll make breakfast," I said.

"Okay. I'll be down soon."

"Take your time."

I pulled open the door.

"Delphine," she whispered.

"What?" I said.

She smiled.

"Are you ready to fly today?"

I laughed, not entirely sure if she was joking or not. Her cocky smile said that she was, but there was an anxiety that sat like a stone in the pit of my stomach, and that anxiety said that she wasn't.

"I'll make breakfast," I repeated, shaking my head and laughing.

I stopped in my room for a moment to slip into a housecoat. Aishe was still asleep in the bed, though she was turned completely around so that her head was at the foot of the bed and her feet were sprawled out across the pillow. I pulled the blankets over her and left her to sleep.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard heavy footsteps coming up from the basement. I heard the door unlatch and squeak open. Ethan emerged first, his hands tied behind his back, his eyes swollen and his nose red as if he had been crying all through the night. Behind him came Laurent, a gun in his hand and dark circles under his eyes.

Ethan saw me and smiled. I crossed my arms. I stepped back.

"Bon jour, Delphine," he said. "You look lovely this morning."

I think I opened my mouth to thank him, but then horrified with myself, I shut it tightly and turned away, walking into the kitchen.

"Let's go, Romeo," Laurent said.

"I'm hungry," Ethan said.

"Bathroom first, then you eat."

I didn't watch, but I heard them shuffle into the bathroom. I heard Laurent close the door and turn on the water faucet. I set about making breakfast, not careful to be quiet, not careful to keep the pan from banging or the eggs from cracking loudly. And when things were quiet, I sighed to myself, if only to cover up the sounds coming from the bathroom; the muffled pleas, the stern orders, the thud which sounded much like a man's body being thrown against the wall.

BOOM!

I flinched.

I flinched but I did not move.

A shout. A pathetic cry.

Just then Cosima ran down the stairs, still buttoning the top button of her shirt.

"What's going on?" she said, stepping into the kitchen.

"I don't know," I said, setting the table.

BOOM!

Another body slammed against the wall.

"It sounds like they're fighting," she said.

"Maybe they are."

"It doesn't sound like a very fair fight."

"It probably isn't."

"Delphine," she said. "Aren't you going to do something?"

"What should I do?"

Our eyes met. Once again we found ourselves on opposite ends of the table. Only this time, the distance seemed much further.

"This isn't right," Cosima said.

"I know."

I said it coldly; as cold as I could muster. But she never took her eyes from mine. She never took her warm brown eyes from mine, and I felt my resolve melting.

"I know," I said again, my voice softer.

The door opened again.

Laurent stepped out first. His hair tousled, his lip bleeding.

"Laurent, what's going on?" I said.

"Just a little disagreement," he said. "But we've got it all figured out now, don't we?"

Ethan shuffled out next, raising his tied hands and wiping at his lip. When he pulled his hands away, they were smeared with blood, which he squinted at and scowled.

"You busted my lip!" he said, indignant.

"Eye for an eye," Laurent said. "Lip for a lip."

Ethan scoffed and when he looked up, the smirk slid right from his face. Yes, when he looked up, when he saw me, when he saw Cosima on the other side of the table from me, that's when his angry scowl shifted into something much more sinister.

It was a look I had seen once before.

"So," he said. "The Dandelion returns. How poetic?"

I felt shivers like knives down my spine. I stood straight, my ears pricking up at the word.

 _Dandelion_. _How could he know?_

I looked to Cosima. Her chin was held high, her head tilted back. She was not scared.

"Good to see you, too, Ethan," she said.

Ethan looked directly into my eyes, his face cold and hard. "You've made the wrong choice, Delphine."

Laurent jabbed Ethan in the back with the pistol. "Move it!"

Ethan shuffled forward, but he glanced back at me over his shoulder.

"Enjoy your little reunion while you can," he said. "The Nazis have a special place for people like you."

"Shut your mouth!" Laurent said, pushing Ethan forward.

But Ethan just laughed, giggling to himself as Laurent guided him back down into the basement. And even then, even after the door was shut, we heard his little chuckles shoot up through the cracks in the floorboards.

I looked at Cosima.

"How about we eat upstairs?" I said.

But as I said it, my voice cracked into tiny pieces and my knees became weak. Cosima crossed the kitchen, catching me in her arms and holding me while I let myself fall apart.

"Everything is a nightmare!" I said.

"Even if that's true," she said, "no nightmare lasts forever."

"This one does, Cosima. You've only been here one day. You'll see. You'll see."

"No," she said. "No. It's not an option. We are not staying here. I have seen the other side, Delphine. I know it exists. And I know how to get there. We just have to stick to the plan. Okay?"

"The plan?!" I shouted, pushing her away. "What plan?!"

Immediately, I regretted it. Immediately, I pulled her back toward me.

"Look, I'll have that plane fixed up by this morning. I just know it. And we'll do a test flight, okay? Just you and me. And once you see how easy it is, you'll feel better about all of this. I promise."

I embraced her so tight, tighter than I have ever embraced another, that I heard the air pass right through her lips.

"Hey," she said, pulling away, looking into my eyes. "Hey, I know I left you once before, and I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," I started to say.

"It's not okay," she said. "It was the biggest mistake of my life. I won't ever do it again. Do you hear me? Never."

She touched my face. She brushed my hair aside. She leaned forward so that there was no way I could avoid her gaze, or her beautiful face, or her smile which tore my heart in two.

"Do you hear me? I will never leave you again."

"I hear you," I said.

"Good. Then let's eat. We're going to need our energy today."


	35. Chapter 35

She was right, we did need energy. We needed more than we could have imagined.

I brought a pen and paper with me to the barn that day, but she spoke so fast, I could barely keep up. She moved quickly and efficiently from the tractor to the plane, picking up pieces, setting them in place, leaning this way and that, always moving, never still.

And through all of that, I was supposed to listen, was supposed to understand her words, though she used words I had never really heard before; words like parameter, altitude, velocity.

Sometimes I had to ask her to slow down or repeat herself, so that I could write it down. But even then, my handwriting was chaotic and messy, just like my mind.

Often, my thoughts would drift to the house, to the basement, to the man who was there. I thought about his bloody lip — about Laurent's bloody lip, too. I thought about his look of disgust and the way he said the word, Dandelion.

 _How did he know?_ I wondered again. _How could he?_

But as I searched back through my memory, grasping desperately for a instance when I might have said the word, I could find none.

"That's it!" Cosima shouted.

I snapped out of my fog.

"What's it?"

"The plane!" she said, climbing up into the cockpit. "It's ready!"

"Are you sure?"

"Let's see," she said, waving me away. "Step back!"

I did as she said, calling Aishe to my side. We stood by the barn doors, hand and hand, as Cosima called out.

"All clear!"

A moment later, the engine popped and chugged once or twice. The propellor lurched into motion, slowly at first, then picking up speed, until finally, it kicked up a cloud of dust from the barn floor.

Cosima waved her hand in the air and called out a happy _Whoooopee!_

I could not help but laugh and cheer, jumping up and down, clapping my hands together. Aishe looked up at me, her face blank, as if she couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. Then Cosima cut the engine, climbed down from the plane, and crossed the barn toward me.

She grabbed me up into a big hug, and if she could have, I think she would have spun me around. But instead, she kissed me on the mouth, her lips thin because her smile was so big. I laughed and held her face.

"You did it!" I said.

"Yes, we did it!"

"It's really happening!"

"Yes, but now it's time for the test flight."

"Test flight?"

"Yes, of course."

"But, so soon?"

"Yes, it will be fine, I promise. Like riding a bike."

She had already moved away, already climbed back up onto the wing. She leaned into the cockpit and rummaged around for something.

"Riding a bike, right," I said. I tried to sound brave. But I didn't feel brave. "But, no one can ride a bike the first time. Everyone crashes and scrapes their knees. I think crashing a plane would be much worse than crashing a bike."

"Don't worry. If anything goes wrong, I'll be with you."

"Right."

She returned with the leather helmet, the one that had been stored under the seat all those years. She handed it to me and I put it on. She buckled it beneath my chin.

"You're going to love flying!" she said, a sparkle in her eye. "There's nothing like it."

The ray of light that crossed her brow was so soft and so optimistic that I believed her.

We moved the plane out of the barn and onto the dirt lane that led toward the house.

"Let's leave it here for now," she said. "Less conspicuous this way. We can move it to the runway when we are ready to fly."

"Of course."

But before we were ready to fly, we sat at the kitchen table eating what was left of the chicken soup and bread. She gave the run down one last time, making me repeat everything back to her.

"Don't worry," she said. "It's just a practice run."

"Right, right," I said.

After we had finished, I walked to the basement door and placed my ear up against it. I heard nothing. I opened the door and called down.

"Laurent?"

He appeared at the foot of the steep stairs, squinting as he looked up at me.

"Yes?" he said.

"Can you come up here for a moment?"

He turned away then, presumably to glare at his prisoner.

"Don't try anything stupid," he said.

Then he came upstairs, and when the door was shut behind him, I whispered my request.

"I need you to look after Aishe," I said.

"Look after Aishe? Why? Where are you going to be?"

"I have to fly the plane."

"Already?"

"It's just a test flight."

"I don't know, Delphine," he said. "I don't think I should leave him alone."

"His hands are tied. What can he do?"

Laurent bit his lip.

"Fine," he relented. "But how long do you think it will take?"

"How can I know? A few minutes? An hour?"

"Alright, but I'd prefer if it was less than an hour."

"Me, too."

"Just give me a minute, and I'll be right up, okay?"

"Sure."

But it wasn't a minute. No, it was several minutes, nearly half an hour or more, I can't be sure. I sat at the table and waited, but he didn't come up. I stepped to the front door and looked out.

Cosima stood in the cockpit of the plane, waving me forward. Aishe played just outside the front door. She kneeled forward, packing tiny snowballs in her hands and stacking them neatly against the wall.

"Delphine!" Cosima called. "Let's go!"

I glanced once more into the quiet house, and hearing nothing, I closed the front door. I stepped to Aishe and touched her head.

"Hello," I said.

"Hello."

"Stay here by the house, okay?"

"Okay."

She carried on with her play, not even looking up once. She stacked another snowball on the pile, and physics brought the whole thing tumbling down. Unconcerned, she set about gathering the snowballs up in her small arms.

I smiled and stepped away.

But then my steps became skips and hops. Then I was running toward Cosima, laughing as I went, because she stood in the cockpit waving the leather helmet in the air and shouting.

"Let's go, Scaredy Cat! We haven't got all day!"

"I'm coming! I'm coming! I'm here!"

I climbed up into the cockpit. I set myself down. Cosima leaned over the back of my seat, touching the lever between my legs, tapping the dials on the dash, stroking my cheek with her finger as she ran down her pre-flight checklist. I laughed.

"Cosima, I'm trying to be serious," I said.

"Me, too."

Then she kissed my ear and disappeared behind me. I squirmed in my seat.

"Alright!" she shouted. "Turn on the ignition!"

The propellor sputtered to life.

"Check!" I shouted, raising my thumb in the air.

"Let's get this bird over to the runway!" she shouted.

"Check!"

I gave the engine a little gas, and slowly, we crept forward.

"Slow and steady!" she shouted.

I raised my thumb in the air.

I was excited. The whole thing was exciting, of course! How could it not be?! My heart beat so fast, I thought it would burst right from my chest! But I wasn't scared. I knew Cosima was right behind me. I knew that if anything went wrong, well…

 _Nothing is going to go wrong_ , I told myself. _Nothing is going to go wrong. Cosima is here and nothing is going to go wrong._

But then something did go wrong. Not with the plane. No, the plane was fine. In fact, we hadn't even arrived at the road, hadn't even attempted to take-off.

No, we had only crossed half the distance between the barn and the house, when the front door swung wildly open, and Ethan shot out into the daylight with incredible speed, crossing right in front of the propellor of the plane — so close that I thought for a moment that he'd get caught right up and shredded. I closed my eyes and braced for the impact.

But he did not get caught. Instead, he crossed over the path and scurried into the rows of grapevines, his hands still tied in front of him. And on the other side of the lane, Laurent followed behind, shouting and waving the pistol in the air.

Behind me, I heard Cosima shouting, but all of my attention was stuck on Ethan's back as he ran further and further into the vineyards. He stopped suddenly. Something had caught his eye. He changed directions, ducking back, crossing over the dried up gray vines, running toward the edge of the vineyards closest to the main road.

"Stop the plane!" Cosima shouted behind me. "Delphine, stop!"

I still hadn't quite registered her words, not until I heard the CRACK! SWISH! CRACK! of shredding vines against the propellor. I had veered right into them.

I slammed on the brakes. The plane slammed to a halt, and Cosima lurched forward over my shoulder, smacking her head hard on the side ledge of the cockpit wall before whiplashing back into her own seat.

She cried out. The propellor died down. I leapt from the plane, landing clumsily on my knees. Cosima jumped down after me, pressing her hand to her face. She grimaced, but I had no time to check on her. I ran to the tail of the plane and looked out and the vineyards.

Ethan had found the axe, the one that had been left out in the snow. He wielded it before himself, facing off with Laurent, who stood with his hands up and circled carefully around. Ethan lurched forward, screaming and swinging wildly. Laurent jumped back, circled around some more, then both and I saw what he was after at the same time. Laurent lunged for the shovel, which stood handle-up in the ground. In one swift, powerful motion, Laurent grabbed the thing from the ground and swung at Ethan.

They went on like that for several seconds, screaming and swinging like mad men, until finally Laurent, having the longer weapon, knocked the axe from Ethan's hands. Then he swung the shovel, catching Ethan right across the cheek in a sickening blow.

I screamed. Ethan screamed. Laurent and Cosima screamed, too.

And somewhere in the distance there was another scream, another blow, another disaster.

The ground rumbled with the weight of it.

I looked to the house. A great pillar of smoke rose up from the side and for a moment I thought there was a fire. But as I ran toward the house, I realized this was not a pillar of smoke, but a pillar of debris, rising up from the place where the old stone had finally crumbled. I paused at the sight of it, at the size of gaping hole in the wall. It led right into my parent's bedroom.

Cosima ran up behind me.

"Where's Aishe?" she said.

I looked at her, turning my head slowly. Her face was covered in blood. The blood oozed from a gash that cut right across her brow. She dug in her pocket and pulled out a red handkerchief.

"Aishe?" I said. "Aishe!"

She was no where. But I heard her little cough.

I ran to the pile of fallen stones. I saw her hand poking out from beneath the pile.

"Aishe!" I cried out, pulling at the stones. "Aishe!"

Cosima worked next to me, and within seconds we had cleared most of the stones away. Within seconds we had unearthed nearly all of Aishe's tiny frame, save for her right arm, which was pinned beneath an enormous stone.

I grabbed and pulled and heaved at the stone, until my back gave out in a flash of excruciating pain.

But the stone did not move.

Aishe coughed and watched me, her eyes as wide as a stunned rabbit's.

I tried again at the stone, but the pain shot up my spine, and down through my arms, and the stone would not move.

I cried out.

Cosima pulled me away.

"Delphine!" she said. "Wait!"

"Where's Laurent?!" I shouted.

But he was still far off, still at the edge of the vineyards, straddling Ethan with his hands around Ethan's neck, shouting things that were incomprehensible.

I called his name — once, twice, a hundred times — but he did not look up.

Nor did he let up on the violence he inflicted on Ethan's face.

I was horrified on all fronts.

Cosima ran toward them. She lifted the axe and tossed it away. Then she lifted the shovel and held it in front of herself.

"Laurent! That's enough!" she shouted.

He didn't let up.

She lifted her boot, shoving him hard against the shoulder, knocking him off balance. He rolled from Ethan. He rolled and jumped to his feet, fists raised.

"What?! Are you going to fight me?!" Cosima shouted with the shovel raised like a spear.

Ethan barely moved, save to roll onto his side and curl up into a ball, his body heaving in gulps and cries.

Laurent shook his head like a lion shake's its main. Then he saw me, saw the wall, saw the tiny hand that I held in mine.

He ran toward us.

And whether it was with his natural strength or the strength of his fury, I'll never know, but he managed to move that stone. He grunted and clenched, and I thought he might destroy his back as I had done, but then the thing moved, lifting just enough to be rolled away.

There was a moment, a quiet moment, when we all paused, when all of us, including Aishe, herself, looked down at the arm with hope.

But the arm was broken, not just once, but perhaps twice or more, and it lay on the ground, a zigzig of flesh, when it should have been straight. Her little fingers had already started to turn blue.

When Aishe saw it, when she saw her own arm, her stunned silence gave way to unconsolable and fearful sobs.

Laurent scooped her up into his arms, pressed her face against his chest, and carried her away into the house.

Cosima helped Ethan up and led him back to the house.

Only I was left alone, kneeling in the pile of stones, because it hurt too much to stand.

it hurt too much to stand. It hurt too much to cry. It hurt too much to breathe.

 _I will never escape this house,_ I thought. _This house will bury me, and all of us._


	36. Chapter 36

I don't remember much, but I remember pushing open the door. I remember the screams that came from the bedroom above. I remember the moans that came from the basement below.

But I did not go upstairs or downstairs. Instead, I walked to the back of the house and sat myself gently on the sofa in the sitting room. I think I sat there a long time, not thinking much of anything, but just listening.

Then, at nearly the same exact moment, Laurent came down from the bedroom and Cosima came up from the basement. They met on the landing. They both called my name.

"I'm here," I said.

But I said it quietly. I didn't really want them to find me. I didn't want anyone to find me. I had disappeared into a cloud of pain and confusion and I didn't want anyone to find me.

They called again.

"I'm here!" I said, wiping a tear from my face. "I can't really move."

Cosima ran to me, kneeling by my side and grabbing my hand. Laurent stayed at the door.

"I must go get help," he said. "You should stay with the girl."

"Her name is Aishe," I spat. "And I asked you to watch her."

"Delphine..." Cosima whispered, squeezing my hand.

"I was watching someone else!" he said. "Or did you forget about the Nazi in the basement?"

"Yes, and you did a very good job, didn't you?!"

"Delphine, stop," Cosima said softly.

"Well, thank god I was watching him? What would have happened if he had escaped while I was outside with Aishe? Did you think of that? This could have been much worse, Delphine!"

"It could have been much better, too!"

Cosima stood up, her fists clenched.

"Enough!" she shouted. "This is not the time for blame. Laurent, go!"

Laurent took one last look at me, and then rolled his shoulder back from the door frame. He ran out of the house.

"Can you stand?" Cosima said.

"I don't know."

"Aishe needs you."

"I don't think I can," I said. "I don't think I can see her like that."

"Alright," Cosima said. "Then take this."

She reached behind her, pulling out the pistol and handing it to me handle first. I reached for it without thinking, the weight of it familiar in my hand.

"But…" I started.

"It's your only choice," she said. "Be strong."

Then she kissed me on the forehead before leaving me alone in the sitting room. Only a few moments later, I heard her footsteps overhead. I heard her voice, kind and gentle and loving. I wished it could be me, but I knew that even if I could get myself up those stairs, I would only cry and holler and be of no comfort to anyone.

Slowly, painfully, I lifted myself from the sofa and shuffled into the hallway. I leaned myself against the wall opposite the basement door. I slid down, down, until I was sitting against it, my knees tucked up. I clenched the handle of the pistol with both hands, the barrel pointing over the tops of my knees.

Pain radiated up from my mid back, right up through my neck, catching at the base of my skull and then shooting straight forward into my brow. And at the same time, the same pain reached out through my arms and down through my legs, gathering all of me up in it's web-like grasp.

I did not move.

I sat against the wall and watched the door.

But the pain in my heart hurt much more than the pain in my limbs. I comforted myself with that thought. Somehow knowing that my physical pain could be overshadowed was a comfort. Perhaps there was something else, something even larger and darker, that could overshadow my emotional pain, too. Perhaps, hate?

I ran my thumb back and forth over the ridge of the pistol hammer. I pulled it back, over and over, just far enough to almost cock it, then I let it fall back into place. I pulled it back, released it; pulled it back, released it. I did this an innumerable amount of times.

Until finally Laurent and Lumiere walked in through the door. There was a third man, a doctor. He carried a black leather bag, and he followed Lumiere upstairs. Laurent stayed with me, sinking down along the wall beside me until the both of us sat together, staring at the door.

I did not offer the pistol to Laurent, and he did not ask for it.

No, together, we sat silently and stared.

"Why do you hate him so much?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"Why don't you?"

"That's not an answer."

Laurent sighed. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

"He was here… that night."

"Yes, I know."

"He came here to take us all away."

"But he saved my life."

At that, Laurent turned toward me, disbelief in his eyes.

"It's true," I said. "He knew where I was hiding — up in the tree — but he didn't say a word."

"Well, he always did have a soft spot for you."

"Tell me what happened that night. Tell me all of it."

"All of it? Well, I don't think I remember all of it."

"Me, neither."

"You left out the back door, and we went out the front. I couldn't stop the pounding in my heart. I couldn't go back, not to the eastern front. I was selfish."

"If you were selfish, then so was I," I said.

"Yes, I guess we both were."

"So you ran? Into the vineyards?"

"Oui, I hid in the vineyards, but I heard the gunshots..."

"Three of them," I added, filling in the empty space.

"Yes. Three of them. Then I heard the screaming — a man's voice. I crawled along the ground until I could get a better view. That's when I saw them. The bodies. And the officer. He screamed and cried like a child, writhing on the ground. But mother and father...they did not scream. Father did not move, but mother...she crawled for a bit. She was crying. She crawled right into his arms. And do you know what I thought?"

"What?"

"I thought, thank god that piece of shit is squirming like a worm, otherwise they never would have let her get that close to him. They would have kicked her away in a second — I know how these men work — they would have kicked her away and forced her to die alone. And so I watched that bastard scream and clutch at his eye and I thought, that's right, keep crying, keep crying. And all of his lackeys ran to his side, paying no attention to mother and father. And that's when I saw it…"

"Saw what?"

"Mother laid her head on father's chest, and I had thought that he was already gone... but then he lifted his arm and he touched her head."

Laurent became quiet. My hot tears splashed down against my chest.

"At least they were together," I said.

"Yes, we can give thanks for that."

"At least."

"Soon after that, Ethan and the other soldier came running back. The crying bastard was loaded back into the truck, but before he left he barked orders for Ethan to stay, to wait for the survivors — to wait for me and you."

"I knew it was Ethan!" I said, suddenly remembering the light in the sitting room, the one I had seen from the top of the cherry tree.

"Ethan asked what he should do with the bodies. The bastard said to bury them. Ethan saluted and said he would. Then the truck drove off and Ethan stood outside for a few moments. I could swear he looked right at me, but there was no way he could see me in the dark. Then he turned, looked up at the house, and after a long moment, he walked to the front door, careful to step around mother and father, careful to not even _look_ at them as he went."

"But he buried them? Later? In the morning?"

"Non."

"Non?"

"He left them there...all night. He left them there all the next day, too. And the next night. It was the third day that he finally came back out of the house. He pulled his cap on tightly, he tucked something under his arm — papers of some kind — and then he hurried down the drive as if he couldn't get out of here fast enough."

"He just left them there?"

"For two days."

"I see," I said.

I felt the hatred. I felt it welling up, overcoming any sort of pain I might have been feeling at the moment.

"So then… it was you?" I said. "You buried them?"

Laurent looked down at his hands.

"By the time I got to the them, their bodies were bloated up like balloons. Mother's tongue hung out like a dog's…"

"Please, stop!" I said. "I don't need to know."

"You said you wanted the whole story."

"I changed my mind."

"The ground was already hard, not frozen solid exactly, but not easy to break, either. A shovel wasn't going to do it. I had to go back to the barn and get the axe. And it took so long to dig one grave, that I decided to put them in it together. Besides, even if I had wanted to separate them, their arms were stiff and wouldn't budge. Even as I dragged and rolled them, they landed face up at the bottom of the pit, still wrapped in each other's arms."

"I think I'm going to be sick," I said.

"I know," he said. "I am sick, too. I think I will always be sick."

I grabbed his hand. I squeezed it.

"Non," I said. "Non. We are going to get out of here. We will not be sick forever."

He looked me in the eyes, but I could tell he didn't believe me.

"Perhaps..."

Just then we heard footsteps on the stairs. The doctor came down, his briefcase in hand, his forehead damp with perspiration. He reached for a handkerchief and wiped at his brow.

Laurent rose, pushing himself up against the wall. I stayed where I was. I didn't have the energy to rise. I didn't have the energy to hide the gun, either.

"Well?" Laurent said.

"Her condition is stable for now, but I'm sorry to say that there is nothing I can do for the arm."

"What do you mean, nothing?" I growled.

The doctor gazed intently at the pistol in my hand.

"Let's see," he started, "The arm is fractured in many places, three that I'm sure of, possibly more. There is no circulation in her fingers and hand. I'm afraid the best option would be surgery, or...if that fails...amputation."

"Amputation?"

I clutched at the pistol grip, my hands shaking, my knees shaking, too.

"That's right," the doctor went on. "But we can't do it here, not in Rosheim. She would need a surgeon, someone with expertise. Strasbourg would be best."

"Non," I said. "Non, we can't go to Strasbourg."

"I'm afraid it's her only option," the doctor said, tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket. "I'm afraid any other city would be too far. She is...well, she is running out of time."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Me? I'm just a general practitioner. You need a surgeon... a specialist."

"Well, do you see any surgeons here?" I asked.

I heard another set of footsteps.

"I know of a surgeon," Cosima said from the stairs.

"Another one of your contacts?" I asked, my words swollen with a disdain that I could neither contain nor control.

"Yes, but in order to get to him we have to leave right away."

"Non," I said. "I told you, we can't go back to Strasbourg."

"I'm not talking about Strasbourg. I'm talking about Normandy."

"Normandy?" the doctor said.

"Normandy?" Lumiere echoed.

"Normandy is too far," the doctor said. "The journey would be too rough."

"Not for us," Cosima interjected. "We've got a plane — no — two planes."

Lumiere grunted his understanding. The doctor tilted his head in contemplation.

"In that case, yes, it might work. I have splinted the arm. But it would be best if she remains sedated for the flight. I can leave the morphine with you. But when do you plan to embark?"

"Soon," Cosima said. "As soon as the sun comes up."

"Then let me leave this here," the doctor said, reaching into his suitcase.

He pulled out a little glass bottle. He handed it to Cosima. He gave instructions on its use, but I only half heard him, because at that moment Laurent took two long strides toward me, swooped the pistol from my hand and reached for the basement door.

"What are you doing?" I said.

"We are out of time," he said. "We must deal with him now."

"What are you going to do?"

He looked at me for a long moment, his mouth hanging open. But then his expression became hard, his mouth closed and his jaw clenched.

"I'm going to make him finish the job."

"What?"

But Laurent was already gone, the basement door closed behind him. My heart pounded. I listened and listened for the gunshot I was sure would follow, but all I heard were the hushed voices of Cosima, Lumiere and the doctor.

I stared at the door. My body ached with pain, but my heart kept right on pounding, pounding. I was scared. Not scared of Ethan, but scared for Laurent.

I stood up, slowly, bracing myself against the wall and wincing as I went.

I reached for the basement door. I had to stop Laurent. This had all gone too far.

I touched the doorknob, and was about to turn it, but then I felt Cosima's hand on my forearm, gentle and cool.

"Delphine," she said. "We need to get ready."

And though her hand was cool, I flinched. I jerked my hand away as if I had been burned.

"What?" I said.

"We need to get ready. Can I help you up the stairs?"

"Cosima, I…"

"Don't worry, she is asleep."

"But…"

"Delphine," Cosima said, as gentle as she could muster, "We are running out of time. I need you to focus. Aishe is depending on you. Do you hear me?"

I heard her, but I still had one ear on the basement. I was still waiting for the violence to reveal itself.

"Delphine!"

The urgency in her voice was jarring. I looked at her, snapping my head away from the basement door. There was a hint of desperation in her eyes, and I knew that I was the one who was scaring her. I sighed.

"Delphine," she whispered.

She touched my face. She pulled me close to her until our foreheads were touching.

"We are not going to die here. Do you hear me?"

"Oui."

"We are going to go upstairs. We are going to pack your things. We are going to get Aishe down to the plane and we are going to get out of here."

"Yes, Cosima," I said.

"Forget about Laurent," she whispered.

Her words shocked me. I jumped back.

"What?" I said.

"Forget about Laurent and forget about Ethan."

"Wha—? How? How can I just forget about them?"

"You must," she said. "The most important thing is to make sure Aishe is safe."

"She will be safe," I said, my head suddenly clear. "We will all be safe."

I couldn't quite pin down her expression at that moment, but I think it was pity.

"Delphine, I am leaving at sunrise. And I'm taking Aishe with me. Please, don't make me leave you again."

I hated her words. I hated them in the true sense of the word hate, passionately, hotly, wildly. I felt a fire well up in my chest at the idea. I wanted to shout and cry and kick. I wanted to lash out, but I couldn't even do that. I was too weak to even do that. I turned away from her. I leaned heavily against the wall.

"Yes, Cosima," I said. "Yes. I understand."

Then her hand was on my shoulder. Then her arms were around my waist. Then her face was tucked against my neck.

I leaned back against her. I opened my mouth. My apologies sat on my tongue, heavy and unmovable. I squeezed her hand, and then she was gone.

She pulled away without another word. She pulled away and walked up the stairs.

I listened one more time at the basement door, but hearing nothing, I started my long, painful journey up the stairs.

—


	37. Chapter 37

When I pushed open the bedroom door, the first thing my eye fell upon — in all opposition to reason — was the bookshelf by the window.

Yes, I still noticed Aishe's petite form laid out beneath the quilt. Yes, I still noticed Cosima. She sat on the corner of the bed, her back to me and her head tilted down.

But that was not where my eye landed. No, for one reason or another, I focused in on the bookshelf, and an uneasy feeling crept across my neck.

 _Something's not right,_ I thought.

I ran my eyes over every spine, checking and double-checking titles, but it was like reading a familiar word, the kind that you have written every day since childhood, only to have it become suddenly odd. I could not tell what was wrong, because it all looked wrong, every single book felt out of place. The desk, the chair, the scuffs on the walls; they all felt out of place, like they didn't belong.

 _Maybe it's me,_ I thought. _Maybe I'm the one who doesn't belong._

The room was quiet. Everything was still save for the heavy huff and puff of Aishe's sedated breaths. I took a step into the room. I leaned against the wall. I stared so hard at the bookshelf that finally the whole room seemed to spin around it.

I took another step into the room, stepping right in front of the mirror that hung on the wall. I could not turn to face myself. I saw my reflection like a shadow out of the corner of my eye, but I kept moving forward.

A sound startled me then — a sound like a turning page. I gasped, and in gasping, I startled Cosima. She flinched, turning toward me, looking up, her finger still pinching the top corner of a book page.

When she saw me, she slammed it shut, pressing the entire thing between her palms as if to hide it from me.

"I'm sorry!" she said. "I didn't mean to intrude...I just...it's just..."

"It's okay," I said. "I wrote them for you, anyway."

"Yes, I can see, but..." she stammered, standing up and stepping away.

She was about to slide the diary back onto the shelf, and that's when I knew I had been right; something had been missing, and she was about to replace it.

"Wait," I said. "Don't put it away. I want you to keep it. Take it with you."

Cosima paused, looking back at me over her shoulder with her hand outstretched.

"I want you to keep all of them," I said softly, "but there isn't enough room to take all of them."

She brought the diary tenderly to her chest and smiled.

"Then I will keep this one," she said. "You sound happy in it."

"Really? I don't remember being happy?"

"Yes, look here," she said, flipping through the pages.

I shuffled closer to her. I leaned over her shoulder. Her finger cast heavy shadows over the page in the lamplight.

_Dear Dandelion,_

_Even though the weather has gotten colder since you left, my heart warms when I think of you. I went to the cherry tree, even though I swore I would not. I went down by the little stream, I sat on the rock, I pretended I was talking to you. I imagined your face, and how it would look in the sunlight. I heard your laugh, as clear as day, as if the stream had remembered it and was calling it back to me._

_I went to the cherry tree, and I remembered your lips...I remembered the jolt of pleasure though they barely brushed against mine...and for a moment, I had you again._

_For a moment._

_Do you think moments like that, happy moments, can be written onto the universe, just as words can be written onto a page? I think they can, Dandelion. No, I know they can, because all I have to do is go to that tree, look up at the sunlight coming in through the leaves, and I can read you. I can read the shadows of the leaves like a favorite story. I can see your face. I can hear your voice. I can feel my body push against yours. And that moment, as you lean up to kiss me, I have read it a thousand times. I have tread that path, I have worn out that spine, I have read that story a thousand times, and still, it brings me joy._

_I miss you...but not always, because in some ways you have never left me._

_Hans_

Cosima read through all of it, word by word, her voice low, her mouth stumbling over the French words. And when she was finished, she smiled, lowering the book to her chest and looking into my eyes.

"Did you understand it?"

"I understood enough," she said. "And I do believe it."

"Believe what?"

"That we write moments in time, because I can read them, too."

I blushed, though how I had enough energy left to blush, I can't be sure.

"You do?"

"Yes, every day. Or, I have...every night since I left you...but I'm glad you wrote it all down. I want to read all of them."

She looked to the bookshelf and sighed.

"I think they will fit," she said. "At least some of them."

"Non," I said. "I want to leave them here. I don't want to bring any of these with me. They are too heavy."

"Well," Cosima said, running her finger along the row of worn out book spines. "They would be heavy, but there must be some you want to keep. Some from before? Circa August 1939?"

She smiled shyly.

I stepped to her then. I took her face into my hands. I kissed her, over and over. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight against my own chest.

"I love you, Cosima," I said. "It's already written."

She smiled. She kissed me back.

"That may be so," she said. "But I still think you should bring some."

She looked up at me, and I realized that we were swaying, back and forth.

"I remember the first time I saw you," she said, her hand running up and down my back. "Sitting on your butt in the middle of the road."

I laughed.

"And whose fault was that?"

"I remember touching you, without even realizing it...I remember touching your chest and your stomach, your legs, and as soon as I realized what I was doing, I froze. I was so hot in those goggles and that jacket, so unbearably hot after I touched you. I must have been blushing to high heaven."

We swayed a little more, and soon we were spinning in slow circles, right there next to the bookshelf.

"Now that I think of it," I said. "Your cheeks were very red when you took off those goggles. But you looked more like a raccoon than anything else."

I laughed.

"And yes, you were inappropriate, and I was about to inform you how rude your behavior was, but then, you took those goggles off and...well..."

"Well?"

I looked at her face. She was thinner than she used to be. Her baby fat had disappeared; her cheeks were less plump. But her mouth was still perky and she still smiled with her eyes. I ran my thumbs over her soft cheeks.

"Well, you were so beautiful...the most beautiful raccoon I had ever seen."

She laughed at that — a happy, sonorous laugh. Aishe stirred on the bed.

"And you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I wanted to shake your hand and never let go."

"You didn't let go, as far as I can remember."

"Yeah, probably not."

"Listen to us," I said. "We sound like a couple of old women, waxing nostalgic. It was only four years ago."

"It feels like a lifetime," Cosima said, looking down.

And when she looked down, I saw little streaks of white in her dark curls.

 _She's too young to have white hair,_ I thought. _Much too young._

I pulled her head to my shoulder and we danced silently for a while. She trembled in my arms, pushing her face further into my neck and squeezing hard against my ribs.

"I know," I whispered. "I know."

I whispered I know, because in the middle of all of my suffering I had forgotten that she was suffering, too. I had forgotten that she knew nothing of where I was, or whether I was alive, just as I had known nothing of her. And just as I had gathered all of my emotional reserves to be brave enough to take Aishe out of Strasbourg, she had been brave enough to fly back into Rosheim.

It was a gamble — a stupid one — but I knew that she had no choice. I knew that she could not go on with her life knowing that she had not tried. And so when she trembled in my arms, I knew it was not out of fear or exhaustion, but out of relief — sweet relief.

"I know."

I whispered it again and again, until finally the shoulder of my dress was soaked through with her silent tears.

"You know," I said, "my father used to tell me about rocks and leaves."

She looked up then. She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"Yes, you told me before."

"Yes. But I've been thinking about it, about the river."

"The river?"

"Yes, he used to talk about life as if it were a river. And it was scary, this idea of water rising up and overcoming everything. But now I think he was wrong. There is nothing scary about a river. A river ebbs and flows, and sometimes it destroys things, and sometimes it gives life, but there is no intention behind it. It simply does as it does."

"That's true," Cosima said between sniffles.

"And rocks and leaves, who can blame either of them? They are what they are. There is no intention there, either."

"So what are you trying to say?" Cosima said.

"I'm not really sure," I said. "I think I'm losing my mind."

"No, tell me. Try to explain. I want to understand."

"Well, it seems like...if there had never been a war...if your father hadn't needed you to deliver that machine to his contact in Colmar...if there had been peace...then we never would have met. You never would have landed in that field of sunflowers. You never would have gone to Le Chiot to meet Bijou. We never would have danced."

"But we did," Cosima said.

"Yes, we did. And I don't understand how to make sense of it...I don't know how to sort out all of the good things and the bad things that spiral around that moment."

"What moment?"

"The moment when we sat on the roof..."

She blushed at the memory.

"The moment when you kissed me...and I kissed you...and I became alive."

"Yes, me, too," Cosima whispered.

"How do I separate that, the best moment of my life, from everything that happened before and everything that happened after?"

"I don't think you can," she said. "It just is as it is."

The answer was unsatisfactory.

"Should I thank Hitler, then?"

"Oh dear God, don't say that," she said, pushing her hand to my mouth. "You should thank your lucky stars, that's who you should thank. You should thank your lucky stars that we found each other that day, no matter the circumstances, and that we have found each other again. That's more luck than some people have in an entire lifetime."

She looked so lovely and then she looked away. Her red and swollen eyes traced the rows of books. She reached out.

"Which one is the one where we met?"

"I didn't keep diaries back then," I explained. "But I do remember the one in which I wrote the story of that day. I wrote it down, you see, hoping that if I had it written somewhere then I wouldn't cling to it so much in my daily life."

"And did it work?"

"No," I laughed. "I still thought about it."

"Me, too."

We laughed softly. I reached out.

I knew the book well. I recognized the cover, made of tanned leather. I pulled it out. I unwrapped the string that kept it closed. I opened the diary, but something didn't quite seem right. It was the weight of the thing. It felt strangely light in my hands. I told myself time had skewed my memory. I told myself that working in the bakery had made my hands stronger, and the diary lighter by comparison.

But I was wrong.

As I flipped through the pages, the answer became obvious. Some of them were missing.

That uneasy feeling came right back. Not only were some of the pages missing, but they had been deliberately torn out. The evidence was clear. I ran my fingertip along the torn edges of paper and scowled.

"What's wrong?" Cosima said.

I didn't reply. I was too busy thinking. It took all of my energy to focus at that moment. I ran my finger along the torn edges. I heard Laurent's words.

_He ran out of the house, with nothing but some papers tucked beneath his arm._

I remembered Ethan's face. I remembered the look of disgust in his eyes as he spat out Cosima's secret name.

_Dandelion._

"I'm going to kill him!" I seethed, slamming the book shut.

"Who?"

"Who else?" I said. "Ethan!"

But Cosima had turned away from me. She stepped to the window and looked out.

"I don't think you have to worry about that."

"What? Why?" I said, stepping to the window beside her.

I looked out into the night. Out in the snow-covered grass I saw them; Ethan with a shovel in his shivering hands, and Laurent behind him with the pistol raised and ready.

"What are they doing?" I asked.

Cosima looked at me with an unnameable expression. It could have been horror, it could have been sympathy. But then she looked away without answering.

I looked down again, confused.

Ethan struck the ground with the shovel weakly. He was crying, but he struck at the ground again and again. Then for a moment, he looked up, his eyes landing on the makeshift cross only a few meters off.

I gasped in sudden realization.

"He's digging a grave," I whispered.

"Yes," Cosima said. "But whose grave is it?"


	38. Chapter 38

Cosima's question hung in the air.

And though it was a very good question, it wasn't the most important one. No, the most important question was one that we didn't dare ask. It passed between our hands as we worked together; sorting through the journals, sorting through my clothes, sorting through my papers, too, and tucking them all into a traveler's clutch; but we dared not whisper a word.

Yes, the question passed back and forth between us when our eyes met; me kneeling by the bed; Cosima leaning over the map she had laid out over my desk. She traced and retraced lines, then rested a pencil against her mouth just as my father had done all those years ago.

I watched her and the more we ignored the question, the bigger it grew, until it loomed over me, taking hold of my insides and shaking them up.

 _Will we get out of here alive?_ I thought. _Is it really possible?_

But I knew better than to ask. I knew I had to keep my head down, my heart closed, and my eyes open.

Hope had gotten us this far — Aishe and I.

Hope had led Laurent home across the Austrian countryside.

Hope had even brought Cosima back, had persuaded her to risk her life for us. Hope had done all of these magnificent things, but that night, in that quiet bedroom, hope had no place.

There was only room for one thing — survival.

Cosima glanced at me over her shoulder, a sigh on her lips.

"I have to go," she said.

"Go where?" I said.

"Up in the air," she said. "I have a radio transmitter in my plane, but it's no good here on the ground. I'll have to take off, get as high as I can, and hope for the best."

"Up in the air? Right now?"

"Yes," she said. "I've got our course to the coast all charted out. But it's pointless if no one knows we are coming. They aren't expecting us for another six days."

"I see," I said. "Well, how long will that take?"

"Not long. Just until I make contact."

"And what if you don't make contact? What if no one hears you?"

"I'll give it a few minutes, but I've got to come down after that. I've got to conserve fuel."

"And then what? What if no one hears you?"

"Then we will have to fly blind, I guess."

She sighed again. She sighed and her shoulders sank, and I worried that she was giving up.

"Oh," I said.

And still the question stared both of us in the face. _Will we get out of here alive?_

She turned away, rolling up the map and pushing back from the desk.

"In the mean time," she said, stepping to the window. "Make sure you have all of your things in order. Once that sun peeks over the horizon, we are gone. Do you hear me?"

"Oui," I said, standing up as well. "We will be ready."

Cosima gazed out the window with her back to me. She was silent. I didn't like it.

We both listened to the rhythmic sounds of Ethan's tired but consistent digging; the tinny _smack_ and _swoosh_ of shovel against frozen ground, a sound so brittle that we could hear it clearly, even through the closed window.

"Yes, have everything ready, and when I get back I will take Aishe in my plane. You take the other plane. Then we take off, no matter what...no matter what."

"Oui," I said.

 _And Laurent?_ I thought.

But she didn't mention his name. She simply pulled her leather jacket on and headed for the door.

I measured the moments she was gone, not by the ticking on the clock, but by the scraping of the shovel outside my window. I didn't look out, though. I couldn't.

I stayed by Aishe's side, kneeling by the bed. And when my knees got tired, I sat on the floor, my head resting on the edge of the mattress, and my hand outstretched to hold Aishe's.

The sounds from outside were unbearable — the ceaseless _scrape_ and _swoosh_ — but even more unbearable were the moments when the shoveling would stop and I'd hear Ethan's voice, weak and frightened, asking something of Laurent. If Laurent ever responded to him, I never heard it. I only heard the return of the shovel to the ground.

I rested my head on the mattress. I closed my eyes.

 _I might as well sleep,_ I thought. _I might as well sleep until Cosima returns._

The shoveling sounds became more and more distant and muffled, until I could barely hear them at all.

Until they almost sounded like water washing up against the shore of a far off beach. But by the time I had noticed the shift in sounds, I was already halfway to sleep.

I watched myself fall into sleep, a part of me still vigilant, a part of me still holding out like the last night guard.

But I couldn't hold out forever. Finally, I slept, but it was a restless sleep and full of dreams. And even as I dreamed, I was half awake.

Even as I raised my head, even as I noticed the sunlight flooding in through the window, even as I heard the ticking of a clock that sounded like waves on the seashore; even then, I knew I was dreaming. I knew I was not fully awake.

But still, I rose.

My bed was empty. The quilt was neatly tucked beneath the pillow. The window was open and hot air blew in all around me; it smelled of sunflowers and sundresses. I was tempted to step to the window, to look out, to search for something I had not seen in a long time…

But then my mother called my name.

Well, when I say she called, I don't mean I heard it on the air. When I say she called my name, I mean I heard it in my heart. I mean I heard it like a song she used to sing, before I even knew what her words meant, or before I even knew that her voice was not my own; was not coming from within me but from without.

The song lured me out of my room and into the hall.

I stood on the landing. I looked through the open door into my parent's room. The wall had fallen away, and sunlight filtered in, and still I heard the waves gently lapping against the shore of our home.

I smelled food. I smelled my old life. I smelled family, security — love.

I went down the stairs, and before I set foot on the bottom landing, the radio sprang to life in the sitting room. The radio sprang to life, and the hairs on my neck rose up, and I knew I wasn't alone. I leaned forward, glancing down the hall.

"Oh, don't worry, that's just me," someone said.

I looked up to see my father sitting at the kitchen table. There was no map in his hands. There was nothing, but him in his overalls and shirt, his hands dirty from a day's work, and his face red from the sun.

He looked young. He looked espirit. He looked like a photograph of a memory, both perfectly fresh and perfectly far.

My mother stood at the sink, humming along to the radio tune, and she had not seen me. I felt great waves of joy wash over me, _swish, swish, swish._

I wanted to run to them. I wanted to embrace them both. But I knew they weren't real. Even as I was overcome with emotion, I knew they weren't real. I stood still, unable to believe; unable to disbelieve.

"I love you," I whispered.

To this they said nothing.

"I miss you."

At that my mother turned around. She smiled, and her smile was deep, catching the light, gathering up all the smiles of my childhood into one moment.

"How are you?" I said. "How are you now?"

"Every day is a revolution," my father said.

I didn't understand. He smiled at my befuddlement and started again.

"Where we are, everything changes."

"...everything changes," I repeated, as if that meant I understood.

He nodded his head.

"Some things more than others," he said. "You get what you give."

I still didn't understand. I looked to my mother.

"What is the biggest difference?" I asked, hesitating for a moment. "Between where you are now and where I am?"

She smiled, tilting her head to the side. "We live more…"

"Live more?" I asked.

"Yes, we live more fiercely," she said.

"We are learning to float," my father added.

I thought I understood, or at least, a calm fell over me. _They are learning to float._

And even as he said the word float, I heard the _swish, swish_ of waves outside.

"The waters are rising," he said.

"I know," I said.

But the _swish, swish_ was transforming; mulling into something more present, more sonorous, more urgent. The swish of waves quickly became the cries of an infant, muffled and not easily located.

I glanced around the room.

My mother set her dishcloth aside, then brushed past me into the hallway, her hair touching my cheek then fading away. She stopped at the basement door, and instead of opening it, she reached her hands into the wall — yes, right into the wall — and I knew it wasn't real. She stuck her hands right into the wall, and pulled out a brick, ripping away the wallpaper in the process. She dropped the brick, but it made no sound when it hit the floor.

The only sound was the sound of an infant's cries, wailing and wailing.

She pulled away more bricks, dropping them in a pile in the hallway that kicked up a cloud of dust. Then, silently, she urged me closer. She pointed into the wall.

I stepped closer. I leaned in. I looked.

I gasped. A child was there, in the wall, wrapped in rags and wailing. I reached out. I took it into my arms. My mother touched my face.

"You must learn to float, too," she said.

"I will," I said.

"Live fiercely."

I gazed down at the child — my child. I felt her cries in my heart, certain that they were my own, that they originated from within me and not from without.

I stepped to the front door. It opened on it's own. Sunlight flooded into the entryway. Light flooded into my eyes and into my heart.

I stepped out into the sunshine, into the waves that washed up against my house. I felt the water around my ankles. I felt the sand between my toes. I saw the birds circling overhead, so many of them.

And in the distance, I saw the wave, enormous and dark, rushing toward me. I shushed the baby in my arms, but I was not scared.

"Every day is a revolution," I whispered to the child as it approached.

It towered higher and higher, blocking out the very sun in the sky. But though it was dark, I saw through the surface of the wave; I saw into the very depths of it. I saw fires. I saw stars. I saw crashing planes, bumpy bus rides, lit up poster kiosks, twirling dancers covered in sweat. I saw guns. I saw cars. I saw blackened out streets and tire marks. I saw cigarettes and lighters; I saw flour and yeast. I saw flowered branches of cherry trees fading to dark. I saw Laurent's hands around my neck. I saw Aishe's emergence from the suitcase. I saw Cosima's silhouette against the night sky, the way she kissed me — the way she kissed me — the way I loved her in letters. I even saw Ethan, the pages of my diary in his hand, the fire in his chest, the hatred in his face.

I saw my father, just a shadow on the hill, rolling a barrel of wine just as he had always done. I saw my mother, a shadow next to him, hanging up the linens to dry in the sun.

I saw all of that inside the wave, and I knew it was coming for me. I knew it would be upon me any moment, but I was not afraid. It was too beautiful, you see. How could I be afraid?

I cradled the infant against my chest.

 _We will float,_ I thought. _We will float._

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. I expected the darkness to surround me, to crash against me and sweep me up to a higher place.

 _This is how things are always done,_ I thought.

But the crash didn't come. No, someone grabbed my arm, pulled me away, shook me free from my trance.

_Delphine! Delphine! Delphine!_

Her voice sounded like the waves, like the cries, like the shoveling scratch.

I opened my eyes.

"Delphine! What are you doing?!" Cosima said, her face right next to mine.

"What?" I said, startled to find myself in the darkened night.

"What are you doing out here? Where are you going?"

"I...I don't know," I said.

My arms were so tired.

"Give me Aishe," Cosima said, reaching toward me.

"What?" I said, looking down.

I had carried her down the stairs, and out the front door. I had carried Aishe out into the night, wrapped up in my bed quilt, and who knows where I would have carried her had Cosima not stopped me.

"I'll take her to the plane," Cosima said. "Go grab your things."

I heard her words, but I didn't move. I could still feel the sand beneath my toes. I could still hear the waves. I could still smell the food from the kitchen.

"Delphine! Let's go!" Cosima shouted over her shoulder.

But it wasn't Cosima's urgency that finally woke me up. It was a flash of light in my peripheral vision. I turned instinctively toward the source. There it was again, just the smallest flash of light.

That's when I saw Laurent, sitting on a mound of displaced earth, the pistol resting on his raised knees.

I saw the flash of light again. For a moment I thought it was his lighter. I thought he was trying to light a cigarette, just like old times. But no, he held tight to the pistol grip with both hands, his eyes locked on the ground before him. He mumbled something under his breath, a ceaseless whisper like a prayer.

I heard another sound, distant and muffled, of the shovel against the ground. I saw the flash of light as the shovel flew up, and a wave of dirt landed near where Laurent sat.

I gasped.

Ethan had dug the hole so deep, that I could no longer see the top of his head.

 _How long was I asleep?_ I thought.

"Laurent," I said. "We are leaving soon."

"Maybe we are," Laurent said, his eyes locked on the shovel that rose and fell. "Maybe we aren't."

"Well, I am," I said.

"Oui."

The shoveling stopped. The night was still; it was too cold for the crickets.

Laurent kicked the dirt, and it spilled into the ditch.

"I didn't say stop!" he shouted.

We both listened.

Ethan's voice came up, scared and exhausted.

"Delphine, please," he said. "He's going to kill me."

I couldn't bring myself to step any closer. I couldn't bring myself to look into the ditch. I did look at Laurent, though.

We locked eyes. I thought about the wave. I thought about the sunlight. I thought about the shore that was waiting for us all. But there was none of that in Laurent's eyes. He was all darkness, all rising waters, all sinking stones.

"Well?" I said. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Laurent growled.

"Are you planning to kill him?"

Laurent was still for a moment, but then a smile crept across his face. At first it was just a twist of his lips, but then his mouth cracked open into an eerie grin, his teeth glowing blue under the moon. He laughed heartily for a moment, then his smile collapsed back into a scowl and he kicked frantically at the loose earth, like a child in the throes of a tantrum.

I took a step away.

He began his little whispered chant again, his lips moving in a quick, contorted grin. I didn't recognize it at first.

"Delphine! Please!" Ethan cried. "Please! At least...at least tell my mother! Tell my mother that I'm here!"

Still Laurent murmured on, his voice growing in both size and sound, until finally, he spoke at full volume.

"Graben Grabengräber Gruben?" he said, kicking the dirt once more.

"Laurent…" I said. "Please, stop…"

"Graben Grubengräber Gräben?"

"You will regret this," I said. "You will."

"Nein!" he shouted, pushing himself up onto his feet.

"You are not a murderer!"

"Nein!" he shouted, the pistol shaking in his hands. "Grabengräber graben Gräben!"

"Laurent," I said. "Please...this is all my fault!"

"Graben Grabengräber Gruben?!" he repeated. "Graben Grubengräber Gräben?"

With my hands up, I stepped back.

"Don't you see? This is all my fault!"

He stepped forward, still shouting, but I shouted right back.

"All of this! I was so stupid!" I said. "At the cinema, remember?!"

"Nein!"

"Yes, you do! I know you remember! We were supposed to go, to see _The Rules of the Game_...Renoir's masterpiece, remember? You wanted to see it, remember?"

"Nein! Grabengräber graben Gräben! Grabengräber graben Gräben!"

His eyes filled with tears as he spat the words at me, over and over.

 _Grave diggers dig graves!_ he shouted. _Gravediggers dig graves!_

"We are not grave diggers!" I shouted back. "We are _not_! We are just _us_ , Delphine and Laurent!" And then more quietly, "Don't forget that…"

He paused, taking a step back, his mouth twisted up in a contorted resistance, as if he didn't want to hear my words. He stared at me across the ditch. Ethan was silent below us. He stared at me with a bitter, twisted mouth and a scowling brow, and tears spilled over his cheeks, running down to his chin.

But then he licked his lips, turned away, and started up his chant again.

I knew then that he was gone. He was lost and there was nothing I could do to save him. He had been swallowed up by the wave long ago, and there was nothing I could do to save him.

Cosima ran toward me, a shadow appearing out of shadows, a ghostly form that grew clearer as she moved closer.

She walked with determination, her head down and her hands in her pockets, until finally she looked up. Our eyes met and she smiled, reaching a hand out, grabbing my elbow and steering me gently toward the house.

Yes, she smiled, in the middle of everything, and I wondered where her strength for happiness came from.

"Delphine, get your things," she said. "It's time."

"It's time?" I said, looking to the east.

I saw the smallest hint of brightening gray sky, and the faintest dimming of stars, and I knew she was right.

The sun would be up within the hour, and we would be gone.

She led me up the stairs, she put the bags by the doors. She checked and double-checked the desk, the dresser, the bed.

She helped me into two coats — the only two coats I owned — then wrapped three scarves around my face and pulled a knit cap down over my head. But even then she looked dissatisfied.

"It will be cold up there," she said.

"I'll live," I said with a weak smile.

"That's the spirit," she said back, rubbing my arms.

Then she picked up the bags and stepped to the door. She looked back at me over her shoulder.

"Let's go," she said.

I stood in the middle of the room.

"Delphine?" she said.

 _I can't do this!_ I thought, my whole body trembling.

"Delphine?"

"Yes, I'm coming," I said.

I stepped to the door and switched off the light, closing my eyes on the room and swearing to never look back.

Once outside, the sky was noticeably lighter in the east, but still dark enough to cast Laurent's face in ghostly shadows. His whispered chant had quieted and calmed but had not died down completely.

I stumbled as we passed him, but Cosima grabbed my hand and led me out toward the planes.

She climbed up onto the wing of her plane, and called down for our bags. I handed them to her, but my back screamed at the weight of them. She took them and set them inside her cockpit, then jumped down off the wing, the impact kicking up a cloud of dust in the cool morning air.

 _Just like my dream,_ I thought.

Then we were face to face, and though her skin was a pale blue and her eyes were a dark gray, she looked beautiful. I reached for her face, my heart racing. The moment was upon us; the moment when she got into her plane and I got into mine, and we both took off and who knew if I would ever see her again.

I reached for her face and I pulled her close to me.

"Don't leave me, Cosima," I said.

"Calm down," she said, her voice cold and professional. "Calm down. You can do this. You have been trained for this. You are going to do it just like we practiced."

She led me toward the smaller plane, the one that sat behind hers, the one made of wood and canvas, the one with no weapons, no radio, and no windshield.

"It will be over before you know it," she said.

"Cosima, I…" I stuttered. "I don't know if I can do this."

She held my hands to her chest.

"You can," she said. "Delphine, focus!"

"I am!" I said. "I am focusing! But I'm not stupid, Cosima! And neither are you! You know that I can't fly myself out of here. You know it's impossible!"

"No. It's not impossible. It's completely within the realm of possibility."

"This is not the time for semantics, Cosima."

"Alright," she said. "It's improbable. I'll give you that. But it's not impossible."

I was not convinced. I ran my fingers over the lapel of her leather jacket. I wondered if this was the last time I would ever touch her. I thought of all the times I had ever touched her, they flashed and flickered across my mind, moving backwards in time, and they were far too few.

"It's a...statistical improbability," she said. "Our specialty."

I felt a sudden desire rise up in me; it was a desire to be close to her, to feel her warm skin in the palm of my hands once more.

I found myself pulling at her jacket, pulling at the sleeves, and then the zipper. I found myself leaning forward, pushing her up against the plane, pressing my mouth against hers in the dark.

She fell backwards; I had caught her off guard, and her shoulders landed hard against the metal body of the plane. She groaned, but her groan was muffled by my mouth. I pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled, desperate to get my hands in, under, around the jacket and shirt that separated us.

For a moment, she was still, save for the moan. She was, perhaps, shocked, surprised, unsure. But then her hands moved quickly to her own coat. She unzipped it and pulled it open for me.

I slipped my hands around her waist. I felt her warmth beneath her shirt. I pulled up on the edge of it, clumsily untucking it from her trousers, clumsily kissing her, clumsily sighing into her mouth when I finally touched the soft warm skin of her waist.

She sighed back, leaning up on her tip toes, her arms locked around my neck and pulling me down toward her.

My hands moved up, finding her breasts, finding her collarbones, even coming up so high that my fingertips brushed against her neck.

The plane rocked gently with the weight of our embraces. Cosima pushed me away suddenly.

"Delphine," she whispered, her voice shaky. "We don't have time. We have to go."

"Non," I said.

She ran her hands through her hair.

"No?"

"No, I need this Cosima. I need you one more time — as insurance."

"Insurance? Insurance against what?"

"Against accidents! Against life! Against death!"

"We're not going to die," she said, reaching for my hands.

"You don't know that!" I said. "I need this, Cosima…"

"But the sun will be up soon. We are running out of time."

"Exactly! We are running out of time. I need to say goodbye, or hello, or...I don't know…I need to feel something besides doubt…right now! Before you leave me!"

She looked toward the cockpit. "What about Aishe?"

"Come with me," I whispered, already pulling on her hand. "She won't even know we are gone."

"Delphine…" Cosima said.

"No more doubts," I said, pulling her harder.

She didn't say another word.

No, soon we were running, hand in hand, down that old familiar lane that led past Lumiere's vineyards and down to the stream, just able to see our way in the moonlight. We hurried to the cherry tree, ducking into the interior space. And once we were inside, she pushed me up against the trunk. I looked out as she kissed my neck and pulled at my two coats.

The naked branches did nothing to hide us from the night. I saw right through them out to the path but I didn't care.

I pulled her against me, kissed her hard, wrapped my leg around her thigh. The tree shook and shook with us, the branches swish, swishing in the cool air. I slid my hands under her shirt. I pinched and pulled at her hot skin. She opened my coats. She pulled up my skirt. She slid her hand up. She pulled my panties away, and soon her cool hand was rubbing against the hottest part of me. She moaned into my neck.

I closed my eyes, pulling her against me. She pushed against my body, her hand moving fast and hard against my crotch, faster and harder than she had ever done, but it did not hurt. No, her fingers slid against me in a clumsy sort of ecstasy, the sounds of which I could hear loud and clear in the still night.

And then…a sensation that I had not anticipated, a fierce yearning that shook through my legs until I thought I might fall to my knees. She grunted and moaned against me, and I held her by her neck, so that her cheek was pressed to mine.

She pushed inside me, gently first, and for a moment we both became still. But soon, I moved my hips down, relaxing around her fingers, and she started up her rhythm again.

I opened my eyes. I looked up. I saw the stars through the naked branches. I whispered my own chant to them.

_Merci. Merci. Merci._

Yes, I whispered my quiet appreciations.

I held my breath. I listened for her sounds; her panting breath and grunting throat. And then I pushed my face into her neck and hair, and I inhaled deeply; the smell of her filled me with warmth. And then I pushed her face away from mine, so that I could see it more closely; her glasses sitting crookedly on her nose. But she did not look up. She looked down, focusing her intentions on the hand inside me. I ran my thumb over her furrowed brow, and then back and forth over her bottom lip. She opened her mouth in response, and I pushed my thumb inside, just for a moment.

Finally, she looked up at me, and when she did, I kissed her.

I kissed her and she kissed me. Her hand slowed, her hips slowed; everything slowed as we kissed.

I closed my eyes and thanked the stars for her kiss, for her taste, for the fire that burned in my belly, the fire that had never stopped burning for her.

_Merci. Merci. Merci._

But there was something that I wanted still. Something that I must know about her before I lost the chance.

I thought about the summer cherries. I thought about the taste. I thought about her kiss, the brush of her lips that beautiful day. How many times had I thought about that day? How many times had I relived it? How many times had I desired to go back in time and rewrite that scene, see what would have happened had we not been interrupted?

I pushed Cosima away. My hands trailed down to the front of her trousers. I struggled to unbutton them. Once she knew what I was after, she unbuttoned them herself. I turned her around. I pushed her against the tree. I kneeled in front of her.

"Delphine?" she said. "We don't have time…"

"I just want one more thing," I said, looking up. "I must know."

"Know what?"

But I couldn't answer her with words. I was too shy to say it, just as I had been too shy to say it before. But I knew that I could not get in that plane, leave that place, stare death in the face, if I didn't know this one thing…

I pulled her trousers down to her ankles. It was awkward. She was cold. She huddled around my face as her knees shook. She pulled my head against her belly, and I could smell her arousal. I kissed her stomach just above her pubic bone.

She looked down at me, her face dark against the brightening sky.

"Delphine…" she said, watching me.

"I must know," I said, my voice thick with desire.

She nodded and closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the tree, and spreading her legs in a graceless pose.

There was no time to be gentle. My feelings at that moment weren't gentle. No, I licked my lips once, pressed my mouth against the front of her, kissed her again on the belly, and then, with a hunger that made me growl from my belly, I dipped my head down and opened my mouth.

And when I pressed my mouth against her, she flinched and grabbed my head. I found myself wrapped up in an all-consuming curiosity — a probing, roaming curiosity — that tasted and touched her; all salt, all sweetness, all warmth and love.

And in this curiosity I lost myself for a moment. I forgot many things. I forgot grief. I forgot fear. I forgot pain and anger.

And I also remembered many things; the smell of sunflowers, the sun on my skin, a red handkerchief, a red dress, a smile in the mirror, a red flame, a night sky, a city that floated in the distance like fireflies, a cherry in my mouth.

Above me she pulled at my head, until the knit cap fell away into her hands, and still she did not let go. She rocked her hips against my face. Her breath came quickly, her knees wobbled in the dark. I held her by the hips, but she was shaking, and when I squeezed her tighter, I could feel down deeply she trembled.

But this only drove me on. I pushed my mouth, my tongue against her. My head and neck moved in circles, a motion I couldn't control. And then, when my desire was at its peak, when I was desperate for some release, my tongue found a place to push further into her, and in finding it, I exploded with desire.

I pushed into her again and again, driven on by some primal lust that had gripped me from tongue to toe. I pushed into her with my whole body, reaching and tasting in long deep thrusts of my head, neck and shoulders.

And she moved with me, taking me into her, thrusting with her hips, pulling with her hands, crying out from her belly, her voice echoing into the night. I didn't care. I loved it. I loved the sound.

I loved _her_ sounds; the sounds of her body, the sounds of her flesh and her fluid, the sounds of her voice mixing with the sounds of the shaking tree limbs.

I loved _our_ sounds; the pulling, the thrusting, the inelegant smack of our bodies colliding, the grunts of desire that lined up in time, hers and mine — _our_ sounds.

And I felt her pleasure rise up, it rose up so quickly. She bucked her hips. She pushed me away. She huddled against me, pulling my face to her stomach as she shook and shook, little seizures, one after another, her back curled, her head thrown back.

She held me still.

It was only when she let me go that I realized that her pleasure and my pleasure had been one in the same, that my desire — my lust — had extinguished itself against her. I pressed my wet face against her stomach and sighed. I was exhausted and relieved.

Then I helped her to pull her trousers back up. She laughed as I stood, hugging me. But when she pulled me closer, her laughter gave way to sobs. She was crying. She held me to her in a death embrace.

"I know," I said. "You are mine."

"No matter what…" Her words came out like a whimper.

I held my breath, lest I start to cry, too.

"And you are mine," she said, and after a deep breath. "Always."

"Oui."

It was all I could manage to say.

She pushed me gently away. She pulled the knit cap back over my head and began buttoning the front of my coat, her hands trembling as she went.

Finally, she looked up at me, her face a bright blue in the early morning light, her tears catching the hint of pink in the eastern sky.

"We should go," she said. "It's time."

"Oui."

We walked hand and hand back to the house, the last few stars twinkling above us in the west. I said my thanks one more time, squeezed Cosima's hand and sighed, because I knew that, no matter what, whether we lived or died, the stars would go on. At least they would rise by night, and they would know…

 _...how much we loved_ , I thought.

Yes, we hurried along the path, in a half-walk, half-trot, because we were out of time. But even so, I found myself glancing back; at the cherry tree behind us, at the stream as we passed it, at Lumiere's house, and the long rows of grapevines, at the run-down wooden fence, at the Vosges mountains in the distance.

Yes, I found myself paying attention, one last time...paying _full_ attention, to that place, to those things, to those memories. I smiled as Cosima pulled me along. I smiled as my home appeared before us, even with the hole in the crumbling wall. I smiled as I heard a bird or two begin their morning song.

 _It's going to be a beautiful day,_ I thought.

But as we approached the planes, I heard a sound that jolted me from my haze.

_Flick, flick, flick._

I looked up, and there, leaning against the body of my plane, with his arms crossed, and his ankles crossed, too, was Laurent. A beaten-up cigarette hung from his mouth and the lighter in his hands. He flicked it again, and in between flicks, I heard his sniffle and sigh. He flicked the lighter again, and finally the small, fragile flame appeared. He brought it to his cigarette quickly, before the flame extinguished completely.

Then he sniffed his nose again, tossed his head back and exhaled.

"Isn't it getting late ladies?" he said. "I thought I'd have to send the search party soon."

He said it like a joke, but his voice was strained, coarse and wavering.

"Laurent!" I sighed in relief.

I stepped closer to him. I reached for the cigarette. I took a drag, myself.

"Where did you find this?" I asked.

"It's my last one," he said. I've been saving it... I was waiting for my lucky lighter."

He raised the lighter and smiled, but his nose was stuffed up, and so his weak-hearted laugh escaped through his mouth.

I passed the cigarette back to him.

"Where's Ethan?" I said, nearly afraid to ask.

"Probably half way home now," Laurent said.

"Why did you let him go?"

"Because...he said it was a good film."

"What?"

" _The Rules of the Game_...he said it was a good film...a very good film...one of his favorites."

"He did?"

"Yeah, he said he'd like to see it again some time. He said I should see it, too."

I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't even know what to think. I watched Laurent's face. I watched tears well up again. He turned away, looking east toward the rising sun. He smiled, biting back tears.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Cosima reached for my hand.

"I'm going now," she said.

I turned toward her.

"Oui," I whispered.

Our eyes locked and lingered for a moment longer. Her cheeks were rosy and her lips were red. She was beautiful and she loved me. I felt all of her love in that one look, and I felt all of her peace.

"Don't take too long getting in the air. I don't have fuel to burn."

"Oui."

She touched my face, brushing a lock of curls from my cheek.

"Just follow me," she said. "You'll be fine. It's all physics."

She kissed me again, and the sunlight reflected in her eyes, revealing all the colors of a field of sunflowers.

"Of course, we will be fine!" Laurent said from behind me. "We've got my lucky lighter!"

Cosima kissed me one last time, squeezed my hand, and hurried away.

And I knew that Laurent was wrong. The lighter wasn't the reason we were lucky.

We were lucky because we had my dandelion, because she had crashed into my life — into our lives — all those years ago, and she had taught me how to love and be light.

I took the cigarette from Laurent, taking one last puff before tossing it away.

"Let's get this over with," I said.

We climbed into the cockpit. We pulled on our leather gloves and slipped on our goggles. I drove the plane to the driveway, just as I had done the day before. I turned the nose so that it pointed straight down the lane to Rosheim. We sat in silence, Laurent and I; there would be no more talking for the rest of the flight, not over the sounds of the propellor and wind.

We sat in silence and watched as Cosima's plane accelerated down the lane, lifted off the ground, and then, rose high into the pink sky.

I took a deep breath. I swallowed hard. I felt Laurent's hand squeeze my shoulder, and then, I gave the engine gas. We rumbled down the bumpy road, the body of the plane shaking violently as we gained speed, and then, I pulled back on the stick, and just as Cosima said, physics did the rest.

In a moment, we were on the ground, and then we were off. In a moment we were heavy, and then light we were light. I heard a distant holler behind me, and I knew Laurent was cheering. I think I was cheering, too. My lungs burned with excitement as we moved higher and higher into the sky.

I pointed the nose straight for the Vosges Mountains, just as Cosima had instructed. I pointed for the mountains in the west, and the for the banks of Normandy, and for the boat that would be waiting for us; the one that would carry us away from this place forever.

I felt Laurent squeeze my shoulder again, and when I turned to look at him, he pointed out the side of the cockpit. I leaned over. I looked out. I saw an endless patchwork of vineyards and dirt roads. Already, the town of Rosheim was far behind us. Already, there was no turning back.

But I was not sad, because when I looked up, I saw Cosima's plane, the metal fuselage shimmering in the distance, and I knew that she would stick right by me for the rest of this journey, and the next, and the next.

I waved, and in return, I saw a leather glove pressed into the side of her windshield. We were not alone.

 _It's already a beautiful day!_ I thought.

I trimmed out the plane, pointed it toward the Vosges, and let physics do the rest.


End file.
